


Mother's Day

by TheTraderJoesParkingLot



Category: Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Also Beetlejuice is a hard name to type over and over again jfc, Also the more I write the more I realize there's a whole lotta angst, Angst, But I think I'm funny so, Comfort, Family Bonding, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, I have so many tags, I love me some platonic cuddling, I'm too obsessed with Beetlejuice, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorder Behavior, Maternal Relationship, Only Between BJ and Adam tho, Peep me writing "Barb" every time I got tired of writing her full name, Platonic Cuddling, Sensuality, Softcore sexual content, Teasing, The more I write the more I realize that little Beetle is touch-starved, Unresolved Sexual Tension, post-musical, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTraderJoesParkingLot/pseuds/TheTraderJoesParkingLot
Summary: Almost a year removed from her death, Barbara Maitland reflects on her strange, new "life" and all that it entails. The best thing to come from this mess is Lydia. Darling, beautiful Lydia. As Mother's Day is fast approaching, Barbara ponders her role in the teen girl's life.
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Adam Maitland, Beetlejuice & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Charles Deetz & Delia Deetz & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz & Adam Maitland & Barbara Maitland, Lydia Deetz & Barbara Maitland
Comments: 88
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing/posting fanfic EVER so I hope you enjoy! Some softcore sexual action is described in the following text. Also, as tagged, there is mention of eating disorder behavior, but only for a line or two. It's more of a reflection rather than actual actions being described in real time. Light mention of alcoholism as well. Also, the first chapter is kinda long since I couldn't find a good place to break it and it sets up a lot of information. Once you get through it the next chapters are shorter! Enjoy!!

Barbara wiped her forehead. The thickness in the air had broken her trance of tending to her potted plants. She looked up and to her left, towards the tallest window in the attic. In front of it sat Adam, hunched over the desk, so obsessed with whatever science book he was pouring himself into that he hadn’t noticed the change in the air. As though it happened in the blink of an eye, the weather went from a warm, sunny, springtime Saturday to a dark sky that was rapidly filling with clouds. She smirked and shook her head at Adam’s oblivion and dedication to his “research,” and stood up, walking towards the window to shut it. At the noise of the window reuniting with its frame, Adam jumped, looking at her, both surprised and almost offended that she had closed the window on such a glorious day. His attention then focused on the sight outside the window. He cocked his head, wondering where all his natural light had gone.

“You should turn on a lamp. You’ll hurt your eyes.” she said, giving him a loving smile.

“Not like I can damage my eyes anyway. I don’t actually have eyeballs, really.” Adam replied, returning her smile as he flicked on the desk lamp, only to make it easier to read the physics textbook Lydia found in an unlocked locker at school. Adam and Barbara didn’t condone Lydia stealing someone’s unguarded possessions, but he was eager to pick up a new interest and he let it slide, just this once.

"I’m going to go shower.” Barbara said as she turned around. The thickness of the air clung to her. Apparently, according to Delia’s “research,” paranormal activity increased during storms due to extra ions in the air or whatever. _This household’s doing a whole lot of “research,”_ Barbara thought to herself as she turned and walked towards her array of potted plants. Hobbies were a lot more fun when they weren’t being used to mask her insecurities. She paused, taking in the fruit of her labor, no pun intended. Not much of a pun, though, considering she was only growing vegetables and herbs: peppers, tomatoes, peas, carrots, cucumbers, basil, oregano, rosemary, and mint, for Charles’ mojitos. She was eager to transfer these to the ground and start a garden with Delia and Lydia, as a bit of a “girls only” project, just the three of them. Barbara recalled her grandfather’s advice of waiting to plant outdoors until the weekend after Mother’s Day, which was only about two weeks away, as that was usually when the last overnight frost was done for the summer. She sighed, pondering her sweet granddaddy, wondering if he went to the Netherworld and was waiting there for her. She sometimes wondered if staying in the living world after the whole messy affair with you-know-who had been a mistake, but her mind quickly returned to thoughts of Lydia, and she knew she had made the right choice. Besides, she planned on living to be as old as her granddaddy was, so it’s not like she was shortchanging anyone by hanging out in the living world for a few more decades.

Although she could transport herself down to the bathroom, she decided to take the stairs, wishing to cling to whatever remains of being alive she could still take hold of. At the bottom of the stairs, she wiped her forehead again, unsure whether it was the humidity or the “extra ions” that were making her clothing stick to her. Barbara only felt this way when a storm was coming, but otherwise, she and Adam weren’t as affected by weather as the rest of the household. Sure, they would feel warm or cold, but not enough to sweat or shiver. Considering they didn’t have the bodily systems to create physical reactions to temperature, Barb was wondering if Delia’s “research” about ions actually had some weight to it. Once in the bathroom, Barbara peeled off her shorts, T-shirt, bra, and underwear and willed them away. She didn’t need to do laundry since she didn’t really have a body that could get “dirty” per se, and she didn’t really wear actual, physical “clothes,” more just visual manifestations of clothing. She didn’t want to walk around naked, after all, especially with Beetlejuice’s ability to pop up any time. She wasn’t even sure if she really needed to shower, but considering how Beetlejuice smelled when they first met, she thought it was best. Once Lydia had convinced the Maitland-Deetz household to allow him to start coming around regularly, Delia made him swear that he would start bathing and brushing his teeth habitually, and his almost-impressive array of nasty smells began to fade. He actually even began to smell…good? Barbara was unsure about any differences in the “bodily” constraints and necessities of ghosts versus demons, and whether she would begin to smell as bad herself, but she didn’t want to make her living counterparts find out. Besides, she loved how the warm, steamy environment of the shower felt on her skin.

As she stepped towards the shower, the open toilet caught her eye. As members of the “other side,” she, Adam, and Beetlejuice didn’t need to eat for sustenance or survival, but they could still take part in mealtimes for enjoyment. Her food seemed to disappear into nothingness as soon as it passed her throat, leaving her feeling neither hungry nor full, which was an annoyance she learned to live with. Where the food went, however, she wasn’t sure. And because they lacked a digestive system, they never really had to think about the toilet. This is why Adam began studying physics, as a way to try and explain the strange phenomena they frequently found themselves in the center of. _The law of the conservation of matter states that matter cannot be created or destroyed, only recycled,_ she recalled Adam regurgitating from the physics textbook, _so then where does our food go? Do we have a different process of digestion? Are we now capable of utilizing all parts of a food item for energy, therefore not creating any waste?_ Barbara knew that living-world physics couldn’t explain and account for the oddities of their everyday life, but there was no harm in Adam becoming a high school-level physics expert. She almost laughed thinking about Adam’s frustration in Beetlejuice’s refusal, or downright lack of knowledge, in answering his ongoing assault of questions. Shaking her head, she brought the toilet lid down over the bowl. She stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The shock of the cold burst as it faded into warm made her feel alive, and it was something she did every night. Maybe it was an unhealthy coping mechanism, as the near-freezing temperature almost hurt her in a strange way, and she committed to that “hurt” every night.

She craved it.

Barbara observed the array of bath products on the rack hanging under the shower head. She felt as though the dead members of the household only needed a bar of soap and two-in-one shampoo, since anti-wrinkle creams and damage-erasing conditioner couldn’t change the state of the appearance they died in. Never developing wrinkles or gray hair, a small pro of dying young, Barbara supposed. But, Delia insisted, through her many trips to Bath and Body Works, that each member of the household, both dead and alive, had their own array of products. Barbara smiled as she grabbed her “Pretty as a Peach” body wash next to Adam’s “Perfect Peony” bottle, both a part of the “new summer collection” that Delia had brought home for them. Hell, even Beetlejuice managed to score a “Cucumber Melon” wash for himself. Delia and Charles’ kindness—whether they were doing it for Lydia, out of pity for the Maitland’s, or because they genuinely cared—was something Barbara and Adam always tried to repay. Some nights, she’d cook, and Adam would clean afterwards. These were activities they enjoyed regardless, but it felt like a nice way to “pay back” the Deetz’s. That was one of the reasons Barbara wanted to start the garden, so that Charles and Delia didn’t have to spend more money on produce to feed five, sometimes six, mouths instead of just three.

As Barbara began to lather up the loofa, she surveyed her “body.” Her legs and underarms were covered in brown hair. Less of a peach fuzz and more like a small prickle, Barbara coincidentally planned on shaving night she died, but, for obvious reasons, her plans to do so were replaced by much bigger inconveniences. She shrugged, reminding herself that it’s just body hair. As the loofa moved down her abdomen, she examined the mound between her legs, covered in the same dark prickle of body hair. Ever since the couple died, intimacy was, interesting, to say the least, as they worked to try and figure out the ins and outs—no pun intended—of their spiritual sex life. It was fun, though, as she felt like they were back in college, discovering new things about each other’s bodies, new ways to pleasure each other, new ways to be pleasured. More nights than Barbara would like to admit, she and Adam were tangled face-to-face as Adam thrusted inside of her, exchanging small chuckles, exploring the novelty and absurdity of it all as his small kisses dappled her neck and shoulder. Except they didn’t have to worry about each other’s hot breath, or sweat, or their weight making the bedframe creak. Maybe this is why Beetlejuice never shut the fuck up about engaging in undead sex, because, in some ways, it was almost better than sex while alive. She had also stopped menstruating, obviously, since she didn’t have a uterus, and that fact was a hard blow to accept once she settled into her newly-dead lifestyle. Although she and Adam were literally in the middle of a conversation about not being ready for a child when they died, she still found herself shedding tears when she was alone with her spiritual body. She had Lydia, of course, who she would gladly face an exorcism for any day of the week, but still, Barbara yearned for the sensation of life inside her, to push it into the world in the ultimate self-sacrificing demonstration of pain, and to hold a small, soft being that depended solely on her and her husband to stay alive. To watch it grow, to wish for the days where it was so itty-bitty, but to also wish for the excitement of the days ahead. She sometimes felt an inkling of these feelings when Lydia would fall asleep on the couch while watching some late night TV. Barbara especially delighted in these nights where they were alone, either because no one was interested or because they were all asleep, and Lydia had fallen asleep in Barbara’s arms, her head resting on Barb’s shoulder. Barbara would cover the both of them, and fall into the warmth of slumber, feeling Lydia’s rhythmic breathing against her. Lydia was an early riser, even by adult standards, and Barbara would often wake and find herself alone, but with the blanket thoughtfully draped and tucked around her. Plus, Lydia was always ready to greet her with a smile when Barbara would sleepily venture out to find her.

As though she was summoned by Barbara’s innermost thoughts, there was a knock on the door. “Barbara?” followed by some muffled gibberish.

“What honey? Open the door, sweetie, I can’t hear you with the water.” Barbara replied. The door creaked.

"Is it okay if I come and sit in here while you shower?” Lydia asked, almost sheepishly, even though this was a common practice for the both of them to chit-chat in private. Barbara realized she hadn’t seen Lydia all day, as she didn’t have breakfast or lunch, and she stayed in the attic, committed to tidying up and working on her plants, with a mid-afternoon romp in the sheets when Adam decided to take a break from his studying. That’s another reason why the arrangement with the Deetz’s worked so well—everyone had their own piece of the house to occupy. The Maitland’s had the attic, Charles and Delia had their bedroom and respective offices, Lydia had her room, and everyone shared the main floor and basement, although the latter was an area she and Adam avoided, especially since Barbara was convinced there were still remnants of their blood stains in the concrete floor, although every member of the household assured her that there was no evidence of their untimely deaths. Beetlejuice, though, found a lot of pleasure in camping out in the basement and wailing her and Adam’s names over and over, until they couldn’t ignore it any longer and someone went down to yell at him, which was the exact reaction he wanted. Lydia, however, enjoyed that area of the home, whether it was the air of death in that room, the dark seclusion, or the almost-too-soft, old couch. Barbara would sometimes brave the basement if it meant extra private quality time with Lydia.

“Sure thing, sweet pea.” Barbara nearly cooed, almost feeling neglectful of Lydia. In addition to coming up on the one year anniversary of her own death in a few weeks, the household also just recognized the one year anniversary of Emily’s death last month, plus Mother’s Day was upon them. Lydia seemed to take Emily’s death-iversary as expected: barely eating, barely socializing, and multiple outbursts directed at every member of the household, even Beetlejuice. Barbara felt a heaviness in her chest as she remembered the first outburst directed at her when she decided to check on Lydia, who shut herself in her room after school one day. _What do you expect, Barb? My mom fucking died only a year ago, I had to move, I wanted to kill myself and ended up accidentally running into fucking Lawrence, and you know how that fucking went. I almost exorcised you, and I want everything to be like before mom died._ Barb was ashamed to admit she ran up to the attic to cry after Lydia said those things. She was hurt. Hurt for Lydia, hurt that Lydia still blamed herself for the near-exorcism, and hurt that Lydia wanted things back to before her mom died, before she died, before they began their beautifully weird life together. Maybe this was what it was like to be a mother. Not-so-glamorous moments where your kid fucks you up and you have no idea what to do because the parenting books never prepared you for this kind of shit. Not that Barbara read any parenting books, anyway. And not that Barbara could consider herself Lydia’s mother. Or could she? She risked her “life” for Lydia, she was there for the good times and the bad, she was there when Lydia needed advice or homework help, for a shoulder to cry on or for someone to just shoot the shit with. Isn’t that what motherhood is all about? Wearing this multitude of different hats day in and day out? Barbara wondered exactly how Mother’s Day would be handled in the household. Is Delia considered a mother? She is legally married to Charles and she is Lydia’s stepmother, and she’s there for Lydia. She shows curiosity in Lydia’s hobbies and interests, she always asks questions, and although she isn’t the brightest bulb to ask for homework help, she does enjoy taking Lydia to Target quite often, which is something Barbara can’t do. Would they both be celebrated? Just Delia? Neither? Would Lydia want to sweep this holiday under the rug to save herself from more emotional pain? How would they handle Father’s Day? How should she and Adam handle the one year anniversary of their death? Should they do something to honor it? Ignore it?

“Barbara?” Lydia called, snapping Barb back into reality, “Are you there or did you get washed down the drain?”

Barbara silently chuckled to herself and shook her head, “Sorry hun. Just thinking about something. What did you say?”

“What did you guys do today?” Lydia inquired. 

“Well,” Barbara started as she worked the soap out of her loofa under the stream of water. “What did you do today?” She could feel Lydia roll her eyes on the other side of the curtain.

“Well, I read in my room. Watched some TV. Worked on a project…” As Lydia rattled off the exploits of her day at home, Barbara remembered how difficult it was to be this age. Barbara remembered how she began to grow curves in places where they never were before. How girls—and boys—would find the smallest, stupidest shit—like her socks, her choice of gym shirt, the shoulder bag that she designed herself—to criticize. How she would throw out her lunch at school, and how she would sometimes purge after dinner. “Now answer my question.” Lydia retorted slyly, once again rooting Barbara back to reality.

“Is the project for school? How’s that essay going?” Barbara smiled, delighted at the playful back-and-forth of avoiding Lydia’s question for no good reason.

Lydia huffed. “No, it’s something else. Don’t worry about it. Just for fun. And no, the essay isn’t finished. And yes, I know it’s due Monday and yes, I will finish it tomorrow.” Barbara laughed as she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. Lydia knew to answer all the questions Barbara had lined up, almost as a way of distracting her from the mentioning of the project. But why would she tell Barbara about the project in the first place if Lydia didn’t want her to know about it? Could it be something for her for Mother’s Day?

“I also looked to see if Lawrence was lurking around, but he wasn’t.” The Maitland-Deetz’s were very careful not to say the word Beetlejuice when the demon wasn’t around. Lydia’s the best at avoiding it, even though she’s the one who wants him around more than anyone else in the household. Even though most would have to say his name three times to summon him, it seemed as though his connection to the family was a powerful one, as he would magically show up when his name was muttered once, let alone three times, much to everyone’s dismay. Most times, though, Beetlejuice would come and go as he pleased. Hell, at this point, he’s pretty much a part of the family, as annoying as he is. Everyone did go through a lot of trauma with him, and trauma bonds people, even if all the trauma was caused by him. If it wasn’t for him, though, this wonderfully strange life wouldn’t be happening. Plus, he was the first person to be there when she and Adam died.

“Now,” Lydia emphasized, “What did you guys do today?”

“Adam mostly read,” Barbara said, finally giving in.

“Of course.”

“I took care of the dust upstairs, worked on our plants, and, uh…” Barbara tried to remember what else. It was a relatively eventful day, and she felt like she had forgotten something.

“Ew.” Barbara closed her eyes and pursed her lips as she worked conditioner into her hair. That’s the something she had momentarily forgotten, somehow.

“No, not that, silly,” Barbara backpedaled, trying to recover, “I was just trying to remember if we did anything else. It felt like an eventful day, and I couldn’t remember if I covered it all.”

“Seems pretty eventful alright…” Lydia teased, stifling a laugh. Barbara peeked out of the shower curtain to shoot Lydia a playful look that she hoped would translate to shut up, and disappeared back behind the curtain to rinse out the conditioner.

“Anyway, when do we get to put those plants in the garden? I went up and looked at them while trying to find you. They look great. And then I scared Adam. I could almost shut his nose in that book he’s so focused on it. It’s a miracle he took a break from it to, you know…”

“Lydia!” Barbara quipped, popping her head out of the curtain to be met with Lydia’s smirking face. Closing the shower curtain yet again, she replied, “Probably the weekend after Mother—,” Barbara squeezed her lips shut. She hoped the water would drown out her slip up. “Probably in a few weeks, once we’re sure there’ll be no more nighttime frosts that could kill the plants.”

“Gotcha.” Barbara couldn’t tell if Lydia had noticed her mistake or not, and whether she was upset by it or not.

“Once we have the garden set up,” Barbara started again, desperate to change the subject, “I wonder what Beetlejuice will—,” she slapped her hand over her mouth. The air in the room suddenly changed. Barbara’s metaphorical heart sunk. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Who wants to get fucked?” inquired a raspy, all-too-familiar voice. _He’s in the bathroom?!_ Barbara thought as she attempted to hold the nearest end of the shower curtain shut against the wall, knowing it would be no use.

“Lookin’ _good,_ Babs!” Barbara turned to see Beetlejuice’s head piercing through the intact middle of the shower curtain. “Ooh baby, I’m about to bust outta my pants! What’s this I hear about a fuckin’? Finally come around to the idea? Did Adam tell you the plans I mentioned to him for the three of us?”

“No he did not, nothing about a ‘fucking,’ and please don’t speak like that in front of Lydia!” Barbara hissed as she stood up straight to face the violating demon. He continued to ogle at her wet, naked body. Barbara made a fist, and thrusted it forward, aiming for his left eye. He yelped, and pulled back from the shower curtain.

“Good shot, hot stuff! I like it _rough._ ” He growled. “Speaking of Adam, where is that sexy bitch?”

“Upstairs, reading his physics textbook.” Lydia scoffed, ignoring the exchange and resulting altercation that just transpired. “He’s really easy to scare when he’s reading that. Didn’t even hear me coming up the stairs.”

“Scare?” Beetlejuice asked, incredulously. “Why don’t I give him a wedgie like that nerd deserves?” And as quickly as he arrived, he was out of the bathroom with Lydia in tow, slamming the door behind them. Barbara rolled her eyes and gave herself one final rinse. Barbara didn’t like to take up that much hot water, especially since she isn’t even sure whether she needs to bathe or not. Peeking out of the shower curtain, she stepped out onto the bathroom rug and made the water clinging to her body disappear. She heard a high-pitched yell come from her husband upstairs, and couldn’t help but laugh. She was originally going to dress in cloth shorts and a T-shirt given the weather, but given the leering eyes and snide remarks of the newest arrival, she opted for long, baggy sweatpants and an equally long, baggy T-shirt. She made sure to make them dark, so that nothing was see-through for Beetlejuice. After manifesting the lounge clothes, she walked out of the bathroom door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter so far, tbh. I cracked myself up a few times while writing it. As I said before the first chapter, these next chapters are shorter and a bit more digestible. Enjoy and thanks for reading!

Barbara walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Lydia sitting at the table and Beetlejuice emerging from the cabinets, pouring cereal into his mouth from the box. Barbara gave him a puzzled, yet exasperated look.

“What? I want some fucking cereal.” Beetlejuice’s eyes shot up and down Barbara’s body, surveying her choice of clothing. “Buzzkill. Hey Lyds, go tell Chuck to turn on the AC so Barbara’s _ladies_ can give us a bit of a show, if ya know what I mean.” Beetlejuice said while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Fuck off, Beej.” Lydia replied as she rolled her eyes.

“Hey!” Beetlejuice started as he slammed the cereal down on the countertop, a fire in his eyes as he looked towards Barbara. “Buzzkill Barb! Buzzkill Barbara! Buzzkill Babs! I just came up with three _excellent_ nicknames for you!” Lydia let out a hearty laugh.

“You think I’m a buzzkill?” Barbara asked, almost accusatory, switching her gaze to Lydia. Lydia’s expression softened.

“No! No. I’m sorry. I just thought it was funny. Alliteration really speaks to me.” Barbara felt bad for lashing out at Lydia. Of course she didn’t think Barbara was a buzzkill. Barbara turned as Charles, Delia, and Adam entered, the latter looking as though steam was going to blow from his ears any second.

“Ah.” Charles drawled with minor annoyance in his tone, “Mister Juice. We knew you had to be here when we heard Adam, uh…”

“Get absolutely fucking wrecked from my wedgie! That’s what he gets for reading that goddamn physics book all day.” Charles turned towards Adam.

“Physics? Interesting. Where did you get literature on physics from?” Charles inquired, turning back towards Lydia, already knowing the answer.

“Yo Chuck, would you mind turning on the AC, I’m starting to get a bad case of swamp ass from the incoming storm.” Beetlejuice interrupted, trying to distract from the origin of the high school physics textbook. “And Deels, _loving_ the Cucumber Melon shit in the shower. Really refreshing.” Delia’s expression of annoyance turned into a smile and nod of appreciation in Beetlejuice’s direction.

“We’re supposed to get a pretty intense thunderstorm tonight now that it’s warming up.” Delia said, her gaze shifting towards the three dead members of the household, “Do you guys feel it? The ions?”

“Oh, I feel something alright.” Adam hissed, staring down Beetlejuice. This seemed to only egg him on more, his eyes flickering sinisterly as he stared back at Adam.

“Well,” Charles interjected, trying to cut the sexual tension in the room, “I was thinking of ordering pizza. I was going to do two pies, but seeing as Mister Juice is here, I guess I’ll make it five.”

“Sounds good, daddy-o. Can we get pepperoni, mushrooms, and snakes?!” Beetlejuice exclaimed, opening his mouth to reveal a long, forked tongue, which hissed quickly before Beetlejuice closed his mouth.

“I’ll get one cheese, one pepperoni, and three with pepperoni and mushrooms, hold the snakes.” Charles replied, seemingly unfazed from Beetlejuice’s minor shapeshift. And with that, he and Delia turned and left the room, Delia waggling her fingers as a goodbye to the four. Barbara went and sat down next to Lydia, hoping to disperse any awkwardness and harsh feelings caused by her accusation from before.

“Now if you don’t excuse me, I’m going to go shower.” Adam proclaimed, and he turned and stomped out of the kitchen.

“Shower?” Beetlejuice pondered, mostly to himself, his eyes flickering.

“He shouldn’t have said that.” Barbara whispered to Lydia. Watching Beetlejuice, delight in her eyes as she waited to see what his next move would be, she giggled in return.

God, that sweet, little giggle.

Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, and Barbara peered out of the kitchen doorway to see Beetlejuice standing outside the bathroom door. However, instead of Beetlejuice’s crackling tones, she heard her own voice coming from his lips: “ _Adam, baby, Beetlejuice and Lydia went upstairs. I know I already showered, but I’m willing to get wet again.”_ Beetlejuice cooed, wiggling his eyebrows and winking towards Barbara as he impersonated her in order to fool Adam.

“Even after this afternoon? If you insist!” Adam gleefully called from inside the bathroom. Beetlejuice turned towards Barbara, mouth agape and eyes full of wild delight. Barbara felt Lydia shake as she held in laughter. Barbara, mortified, slammed her elbows on the table and hid her face in her hands. She heard the door open and Adam scream obscenities. Barbara could feel her face getting hot, although she was unsure whether or not her cheeks would actually become red from the embarrassment. Lydia allowed herself to let out her full, guttural laughter. Barb felt a heavy, long arm around her shoulders. Looking up, she was face to face with the demon himself.

“So, what’s the hubbub about this afternoon?” Beetlejuice asked, once again wiggling his eyebrows.

“Adam was actually able to peel himself away from that book long enough to have sex with Barbara.” Lydia informed, struggling to reply through her laughter.

“Lydia!” Barbara gasped, half laughing in shock that Lydia would be so forward about this, half laughing out of utter embarrassment.

“You’re discussing your sex life with a kid? I thought I was the pervert, but _YOU?_ ” Beetlejuice teased.

“She didn’t have to say anything. I guessed. Sometimes you just know.” Lydia replied, smirking and shrugging.

“How much you wanna bet that their bed is made? Only a buncha thumb-suckers like these two would make their bed after daytime sex. Wanna check it out?” Beetlejuice asked Lydia.

“Nah, I’m good. Go on without me.” She replied.

“Suit yourself.” And with a pop, Beetlejuice was gone. As Barbara sighed and looked at a smug Lydia, Beetlejuice was back at the table, tears in his eyes from laughter. “Their bed looks pristine! Immaculate! Like something out of HGTV!” Lydia wheezed, joining in with his laughter.

“Wow, Beej,” Barbara reeled, “Didn’t know you knew big words like ‘pristine’ and ‘immaculate!’” This reply only sent the pair into a deeper fit of hysterics. She laughed, proud of her clever comeback. “It’s like I have two children!”

“Does this mean I get to call you ‘mommy’ now? Kinky.” Beetlejuice rasped through his laughter. “I have some mommy issues. And daddy issues. Can I call Adam ‘daddy’ now?! Wait, I already do.”

Barbara cringed, realizing her mistake. She _never_ meant to refer to Lydia as her child. She doesn’t want Lydia to get mad and think Barbara was trying to replace her dead mom, and she doesn’t want Lydia to get confused and angry with all these female authority figures in her life. Most of all, she doesn’t want Lydia to think she’s desperate. Hesitantly, she turned to face Lydia, who, much to Barbara’s surprise, wore a small smile and a brightness in her eyes as she looked Barbara’s face up and down, trying to read her expression. Barbara released the tension from her shoulders and smiled, cupping Lydia’s face in her hand.

So warm. So soft.

Her overwhelming happiness was interrupted as Adam shuffled into the room, dressed in green and blue striped pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt, looking sheepish rather than livid, as Barbara expected.

“So, babe,” he gulped, looking at her, “I might have mentioned something about our…afternoon…together, thinking it was you outside the door.”

“You think?” Barbara teased, raising an eyebrow. As Adam further hunched over in the embarrassment she felt herself minutes ago, Barbara began to laugh. One by one, Lydia and Adam joined her as Beetlejuice began to roast Adam about making the bed after daytime sex. As Barbara rolled into more laughter alongside Lydia, she felt a lightness in her chest as it heaved. She could’ve never imagined being this happy after she died.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up and get ready for some of that ***~pLaToNiC cUdDLing~*** WHOOOOOO

The pizzas were consumed during a dinnertime circus of sorts, with Beetlejuice attempting every hijink in order to rouse a reaction out of Charles, who famously remained even-keeled in the face of the demon. Barbara sat to the left of Lydia, intoxicated by each little giggle as it escaped her mouth in reaction to Beetlejuice. Lydia is sixteen, old enough to start learning how to drive, get a job, and start thinking about college, but these giggles are the one thing that root her to childhood in Barbara’s mind. Lydia only came into Barb’s life—or death—at the age of fifteen, which is certainly quite mature, but she had grown so much between fifteen and sixteen. Barbara yearned to know baby, toddler, and child Lydia. She had seen pictures, but nothing could compare to the real thing. As each giggle floated in the air, Barbara would close her eyes and humor herself for a brief moment; she imagined a chubby baby Lydia with curly, golden blonde locks giggling at a game of peek-a-boo, or an unsteady two-year-old Lydia giggling as a chipmunk scurried across the ground in front of her, or Lydia, aged six, with now-black hair framing her face, a jack-o-lantern mouth of missing teeth, and scraped-up knees, laughing as Adam made ridiculous shadow puppets on the ceiling of the living room. She turned towards Adam, wondering if he ever had these thoughts about Lydia. She knew he felt like a secondary father figure to her, as they’ve discussed it before. Her gaze then shifted to Delia. Was she even capable of feeling these intense, complex emotions? Jealousy turned to guilt. As much as they joke about Delia’s…unique…personality, she’s still a good woman with a kind heart who deserves respect. But Barbara still wondered if Delia transported herself to an imaginary, alternate universe where Lydia was hers. Truly, completely, hers. And as much as Delia supported and listened to Lydia, the teen always went to Barbara and Adam first, since they were the ones in the household who truly understood her eccentricities.

“Barbara!” Lydia shook Barb out of her thoughts. She looked around, startled, and was met with everyone staring back at her. But Lydia only continued to giggle. “Geez Barb, you’re really doing a lot of thinking today, aren’t you? Do you want any more pizza? You barely touched your first slice.”

“She’s probably doing a lot of thinking about this afternoon…” Beetlejuice trailed off, his gaze switching playfully between Barbara and Adam, whose metaphorical jaw was clenched in anger.

“What about this afternoon?” Charles asked confused, sitting to the left of Adam and leaning forward to look quizzically at Barbara. She stared daggers at Beetlejuice.

“Nothing. Beetlejuice!” she snapped through gritted teeth.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Charles realized, looking away as his face turned red. Barbara gripped the table in rage and returned her daggers to Beetlejuice. With a flick of her hand, every drink on the table simultaneously floated up and dumped itself over Beetlejuice, who recoiled in shock before meeting Barbara’s gaze with surprise.

“Damn Babs, I gotta start riling you up more often. Now I’m all _sticky._ ” Beetlejuice said, rising from his seat and deploying his famous eyebrow wiggle and wink combo. With a flick of his wrist and a snap of his fingers, his dinner plate was in the sink and it had begun washing itself. “Welp, I’m gonna go shower then, if anyone would like to join me.” Beetlejuice implied as he made his way around the table, reaching down to pinch Adam’s nipple as he finished his sentence, who yelped and clutched his chest in return. “God, I love making you scream.” As he turned to walk away, Delia mouthed _thank you_ to Barbara, as Delia was always tirelessly ensuring Beetlejuice stayed up to snuff with his hygiene practices.

Once everyone was showered and changed for the night with their teeth brushed (from the insistence of Delia, of course), they all sat in the living room around the TV, Charles and Delia in their matching armchairs, Lydia sandwiched between the Maitland’s on the couch, with Adam on the right and Barb on the left, and Beetlejuice laying on his stomach across the back of the same couch, overlooking, somewhat menacingly, almost like a larger, greener Cheshire cat. The subject of the night was shitty, late-night sitcoms, who unknowingly stepped into the Maitland-Deetz household to be ridiculed, nitpicked, and wise-cracked at, as scrutinizing and cracking jokes at poorly-aged 90’s television was a popular pastime shared by all members of this fucked up family. Delia grew more and more giggly as she partook in her after-dinner indulgence of red wine (promising to brush her teeth again), and she became a spectacle herself. Everyone was equally laughing at the TV and the silly and downright ridiculous things she had to say in return. However, Barbara could feel Beetlejuice grow tenser with each utterance that came from her tipsy mouth. She knew that ghosts could not experience the effects of mind-altering substances, but given the stories Beetlejuice told about his mother, she wondered if demons were bound to the same rules.

“Hey, how you doin’?” Delia slurred at Charles as she mocked Joey, who was once again trying to win over yet another woman on an episode of _Friends_. She went down the line of chuckling family members, asking each of them: “How you doin’?” By the time she met eyes with Barbara, Beetlejuice moved his head to hide behind hers, and kept his eyes on the TV. Delia let out another “How you doin’?” after Barbara’s, seemingly directed at Beetlejuice, even though he was working hard to not meet her gaze. Delia then placed all her focus on Charles, letting out a cacophony of Joey’s motto, and Adam and Lydia began to dive into the same routine, two Joey’s, back and forth and back and forth. With the other family members distracted, Barbara leaned her head so it rested on Beetlejuice’s shoulder, so that their cheeks were touching. He initially startled, but then leaned into it, softening.

“Hey bubs, you okay?” Barbara whispered “I know the subject of alcohol is tough for you.” Beetlejuice recoiled and moved to meet Barb’s eyes, looking insulted.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scoffed, defensively. Barbara saw right through him. As macho of a front as he tried to put up, Barbara knew that even demons have demons. She met his gaze with equal defense, and cupped his face in her hand, standing her ground and waiting for another retaliation or snide remark. Barbara figured that if she was going to play mom, she might as well be a mother of two. Instead, Beetlejuice sighed, knowing Barbara knew his true thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He curtly relinquished, but nothing more.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else? I can go with you, and say that we’re playing Yahtzee or something.”

"First of all, fuck Yahtzee. I don’t get what you see in that game. It’s literally just rolling dice.” Beetlejuice retorted, tilting his head to touch hers. Barbara resumed her previous position, leaning her head back so it rested on his shoulder, cheek-to-cheek with the demon. He paused for a brief moment, encapsulated by the feeling of her smooth cheek against his stubble-covered face. “Second, I’m good here. I wanna see if Joey fucks this bitch or not.” Barb rolled her eyes, settling in to her position of silently reassuring Beetlejuice, with her right arm around Lydia, who leaned into her side, fitting perfectly into the curves of Barbara’s spiritual body.

The night wound down, leaving only the Maitlands and Lydia heaped together on the couch under the lullaby of rain pelting against the windows. Even Beetlejuice had grown bored and retired to the couch in the basement, exchanging a look with Barb as he rolled off the back of the living room couch and walked out. The Deetz’s offered him a bed, but he declined, saying that he was “chill with couch surfing,” as he put it. She wasn’t really sure if he even slept, or if he just laid around and relaxed to pass the time until he could harass his housemates. The darkness settled around the little family of three, the flicker of light from the TV seemed to almost warm them like a fire in a fireplace. She glanced at Lydia, whose legs were thrown over Adam’s lap, both of them giving into the plush couch with drooping eyelids. Barbara returned her gaze to the TV, pretending, merely for a second, that this was her own little family. Mom, dad, and daughter. _Her_ daughter. The same daughter she brought to life and grew into a young woman. The same daughter that she would have to remind tomorrow to finish her essay, and then be the one to proofread it before it headed into her backpack, hopefully in a folder, to be turned in during first period English. Barbara looked again, and both Lydia and Adam had succumbed to sleep, and she gave a light chuckle, as Adam fell asleep sitting straight up, in typical dad fashion. If he had neck muscles, he’d be complaining about them all day tomorrow. Another benefit to being dead, she figured. The heaviness of sleep loomed over Barbara. With her free hand, she summoned the remote and shut the television. Then, with another wave, a blanket floated down and tucked its way around the three of them as she shifted her weight to rest her head on the armrest of the couch. Feeling the rise and fall of Lydia’s chest and the warmth of her firm yet soft body, Barbara succumbed to sleep alongside her perfect little family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it here, thank you so much!!! I'm not sure how much more I'm going to add. I have some ideas for the next chapter but I'm not sure if I want this to just be a soft fluff story or if I'll make it into something that has more of an overarching plot. Since I'm new to the fanfic community, constructive critiques and suggestions are welcome, and I'd like to hear any ideas you may have about continuing the story! Thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

Sunlight filtered into the living room as Barbara blearily opened her eyes. She had shifted during the night. Now, she was on her back, her legs cleanly laying across her husband’s lap, with her ankles crossed. She blew an airy chuckle out of her nose at the fact that Adam was still sitting up, his head tilted back to rest on the couch. Looking down, Lydia was now cradled alongside her between the back of the couch and her own body. Her head was resting on Barbara’s stomach, her arms clutched close to her chest, the blanket stopping just below her pale, pink lips. Barbara gingerly moved her hand to rest on Lydia’s upper back, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, as well as a faint heartbeat. She forgot how much movement went into keeping a person alive. Lydia’s body was so lively, yet so still. So warm. Barb turned her head and squinted to read the clock above the mantle. 8:47. She jerked her head back, surprised that Lydia had slept this late, as she was usually up for about an hour by this point in the morning. She looked back down at Lydia, remembering the uncompleted essay that was sitting in the laptop on her desk. She contemplated rousing Lydia so she could get a head start and finish the essay before it was too late in the day. Then maybe they could both tend to the potted plants, or tease Adam about his physics obsession. But, Barbara reconsidered, Lydia needs a well-rested mind in order to tackle her essay head on. Or, maybe she’s going through a growth spurt and her body needs the extra rest. Or, perhaps, she slept much more soundly being cuddled by her spiritual…housemates? Friends? Parents?

From the kitchen, Barbara heard Delia let out a hearty giggle, which was quickly muffled. She could hear Beetlejuice’s low, grumbling voice. Thank God Beetlejuice was bothering someone else and not ruining this perfect morning. Barbara could stay here for the rest of eternity.

 _“…sleeping beauties…”_ That’s all Barbara could make out of Beetlejuice’s voice from the kitchen. _Great. Spoke too soon,_ she thought. She slammed her eyes shut, anticipating the arrival of the demon, hoping she could feign sleep in order to deter him. She heard a gentle pop, and she could feel Beetlejuice’s presence leering in front of them. Even if his victims were sleeping, he always preferred to transport himself, moving as quickly and discreetly as possible, always having the upper edge. She tried her best not to tense in anticipation of Beetlejuice’s first move to terrorize them and ruin this perfection. Maybe he’d squeeze Barb’s breast, or pinch Adam’s nipple. Instead, she felt him remain still, his eyes intently focused on the trio. Trapped in a silent standoff, Barbara nervously waited to see who would break first. Lydia stirred. Under the blanket, Barbara began to move her thumb over the edge of Lydia’s shoulder blade in an attempt to soothe her, as though she was a fussy baby that Barbara prayed would have a just few more minutes of peace. She made a mental note to have a stern talking-to with Beetlejuice later, in order to reprimand him for interrupting Lydia’s all-important slumber. Suddenly, she felt his presence shift from the front of the couch to hovering over it, delicately floating down to rest on the back of the couch, resuming his position from the night before. She heard him sigh, and his arm hung over the couch, almost acting as a hesitant invitation. As inconspicuously as she could as to not alert Beetlejuice of her consciousness, she shifted, allowing her upper arm to be delicately brushed by Beetlejuice’s fingers. He pulled back, and she once again felt his gaze return to her, unmoving. His fingers returned, and he let out a sigh as he settled, resting his head. Barbara was surprised at how complete she felt with Beetlejuice resting over her, fingers grazing her skin.

Sometime later, she felt Adam flinch. Disoriented, her eyes flew open and her head jolted up, drawing the attention of Adam and Beetlejuice away from each other and onto her. Her eyes widened in anger and she nodded her head to gesture to a sleeping Lydia.

“Sorry,” Adam urgently whispered, “He scared me. I didn’t realize he was there.”

“It’s okay guys, you didn’t wake me. I’m already awake.” Lydia quietly drawled. Barbara brought her head back down onto the armrest, letting out a light groan in protest that the peace had finally been disturbed. “How ‘bout you, Barb?” There was a playful lilt in Lydia’s voice.

She smiled. “Well,” she began, lifting her head and popping open one eye to look at Adam. “I was sleeping great until _someone_ decided to ruin it.” She teased, not wanting Beetlejuice to know she had really been awake the entire time. Adam smiled and shook his head, staring into his lap at the jumbled pairs of legs under the blanket.

“Sorry.” He chuckled.

A stillness hung in the air with anticipation on who was going to make the first move to break from the couch. Adam clapped his hands on the legs resting on his lap, squeezing them, eliciting a squeal from Lydia as she recoiled.

“Welp, we have to get up and at ‘em—or _Adam_ — at some point. You guys have taken up enough real estate on my lap for far too long! You’re being evicted!” Lydia, Barbara, and Beetlejuice groaned.

“Saying you’re a dork is a gross understatement.” Lydia complained as she sat up, swinging her legs over Barbara’s, breaking their embrace.

“There are no words to describe him. Really, Babs, what the fuck do you see in him?” Beetlejuice inquired. Barbara noticed that his arm was no longer slung over the back of the couch, and rather tucked underneath his chest.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure.” Barbara answered, propping herself up on her elbows, raising an eyebrow to Adam. He scrunched his nose with a playful smile and deployed the leg-squeezing move that Lydia had fallen victim to a minute prior. Barbara yelped, writhing to get away from the intense tickling sensation. Somehow, in one graceful movement, she flipped, sending her and Lydia toppling onto the floor, laughing. She turned her head to shoot her husband a dirty look. He winked in return, and she rolled her eyes.

“9:06?!” Lydia belted, scrambling to stand up to her feet. “I didn’t know it was this late! I have so much work to do!”

“Honey, honey,” Barbara fussed, walking towards Lydia with an outstretched arm. “There’s no need to panic. You’re a growing girl, you need your sleep. Didn’t you say you already had some of your essay done? You’ll finish it in no time.”

“Yeah I know, but I have more than the essay to work on.” Lydia replied hotly.

“Oh, your project?” Barbara inquired.

Lydia shrugged Barbara’s hand off of her shoulder “I’ll see you guys later.” As she began to take off, Adam stepped up, partially blocking her path.

“I don’t know about you, but when I have a day’s work ahead of me, I need—or needed— a full stomach!” Adam asserted, clapping both hands to his midsection. “Why don’t you sit down and I can make you something that you can bring upstairs?” It was clear he was trying to diffuse the strangely tense situation as he cautiously placed his arm around Lydia’s shoulders, glancing at the other two, looking for back up.

“Actually,” Delia called as she entered the kitchen. “I already took care of that. Made eggs for anyone who wants them. They’re in the pan. I kept the lid on to keep them warm.”

Everyone looked around at each other, still feeling the palpable tension in the air. Adam’s voice cracked as he spoke up. “How ‘bout I fix you a plate and I can bring it up for you?”

Lydia began breathing hard, starting at all the adults crowding around her. She shoved Adam’s arm off of her. “I can do it myself, thanks.”

Everyone, even Delia, turned to look at Barbara. She analyzed all possible outcomes to this situation. She could further push Lydia to the brink of anger, asking her if she was okay. Seemed like as smart of an idea as walking into a lion enclosure with steaks tied to her body. She decided to go for a more hands-off approach.

“Ok hun. You go get to work then. Let us know if you need anything.” In reply, Lydia slammed the spatula down, turning quickly and storming out of the room without a glance in anyone’s direction. Everyone looked back at Barbara.

“I don’t know, seemed like the safest route.”

“She’s acting real sus.” Beetlejuice piped up. Everyone looked at him in bewilderment.

“Sus?” Delia finally asked.

“Yeah, like suspicious. Lydia taught me that word.” Beetlejuice beamed, happy to be able to apply his newfound knowledge.

“Sus.” Delia contemplated. “Sus. _Suspicious._ Sus. I like it!” Everyone smiled, shaking their heads and chuckling.

“I think it’s best if we give her some space. No use in poking at her if she’s already agitated. Maybe I’ll check on her later.” Barb suggested, and once she was met with nods form everyone, she dismissed herself from the kitchen and into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth and manifesting gray leggings and a pink shirt with a lace frill, she began her trek up to the attic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I can't stop listening to "The Children We Didn't Have," which got replaced by Barbara 2.0 after the DC run. If you've never heard it look it up on YouTube, and click on the video of Kerry sitting in overalls, that video is the best quality. So I'm going to keep belting it until my mom gets home. You're welcome in advance for ruining your life.

Barbara bounded up the stairs, eager to put Lydia’s outburst behind her, chalking it up to teenage hormones. She groaned when she saw Beetlejuice standing outside Lydia’s bedroom door, his ear pressed up against it. At the sight of Barb, he quickly pulled away. She raised her eyebrows and gave him a stern look. He smiled and shrugged before side eyeing the bedroom door.

“Beetlejuice!” Barbara hissed, trying to keep quiet as to not alert Lydia that they were outside her door. She’d really throw a tantrum if she realized she was being spied on. Beetlejuice slowly shifted his gaze towards Barb, raising an eyebrow in threat. She knew that trying to go after him would only excite him more and lead to Lydia’s blow up. She gripped the banister and bared her teeth. “Beetlejuice! Come. Here.” She gestured towards him with her finger, hoping he would inch closer. He side eyed the door again, a twisted smile forming on his face. Hot tears began to prickle the back of Barbara’s eyes as she thought about the consequences of a disturbed Lydia. She was already agitated, and she couldn’t imagine Lydia becoming even more upset. Barbara unclenched her jaw and softened her shoulders, letting go of her grip on the banister. “Beej, please.” She pleaded. “She has a lot of work to do apparently, and none of it’ll get done if you bother her. She’s already upset enough for whatever reason, and I think giving her space to clear her head is best.”

Beetlejuice moved to fully turn his body towards her, backing away from the door. He smiled again. “I like it when you’re angry.” He teased. “I’ll leave her alone, but only if I get to stay in the attic with you and Daddy.” Barbara rolled her eyes, thankful that she was able to de-escalate the demon.

“Fine. But don’t you go transporting yourself up there and scaring Adam either.” Beetlejuice, who had his fingers poised to snap and do exactly that, slowly lowered his hands. “We don’t need that bothering Lydia. Either you take the stairs with me, or you give me a head start to warn him.”

“You have ten seconds.”

Barbara turned and rushed up the stairs, noting that calm reasoning was a better tactic to use on Beetlejuice than displays of authority and anger. She swung the attic door open and was surprised to find Adam, now in jeans and red flannel with rolled up sleeves, sitting at the desk, but facing the door instead of being buried in his textbook. She gave him a puzzled look.

"I figured that he was coming up here at some point. Thought I should be ready.”

“Wow!” Barbara mocked. “All that studying is really making you so smart!”

“You know it, baby.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She chuckled and walked up to him, caressing his chin and planting a sweet, tender kiss on his lips.

“Geez Babs, straddle him why dontcha?” Beetlejuice beckoned from behind her. She sighed and walked away from Adam, knowing she would’ve done exactly that if Beetlejuice wasn’t around. Instead, she walked over to her plants and kneeled down, lightly stroking the soil in each pot to check if any needed watering.

“So what do you guys think that was all about?” Adam questioned. “I mean, that much fuss over an essay?”

“What was that you mentioned to her about a project, Babs? She got real pissed off as soon as you said that!” Beetlejuice quipped, delighted. Adam furrowed his brows and cocked his head, looking at Barbara.

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about a project yesterday when we were talking, but she changed the subject pretty quickly.” Barbara recalled.

“I think she’s hiding something from you!” Beetlejuice whispered excitingly. “Your birthday coming up?”

“Nah, not until September.” Adam pondered. Beetlejuice gasped with the same delighted expression he had yesterday when he found out Barbara and Adam had afternoon sex.

“Mother’s Day!” Beetlejuice realized with a big, stupid grin. Adam slowly began to nod his head in agreement, smiling. Barbara felt a lightness in her chest like she never felt before. She looked down to make sure she wasn’t floating, because that’s what it felt like. Flustered and doubtful, she tried her best, unconvincingly, to play it off.

“Psh. No.” Barbara stuttered, trying to find her words. “ _Emily_ is her mom. Maybe Delia, in a legal sense. But me? I just happen to be an accessory that came with the house.”

“Babe, no.” Adam assured softly. “You’re so much more than that. I can’t even begin to list all the things you’ve done for her. How you’re always there. You can tell how much she loves you.” Beetlejuice was snickering. “What?” Adam announced with a tinge of anger, turning towards him.

“I mean, did you see yourselves this morning?” Beetlejuice gushed. “Barbawa with her wittle baby Wydia, all snuggly in their bwankie.” His lower lip puckered out, pouting. She didn’t know if Lydia’s mood was contagious or what, but she had it. She clenched her fists and stood, storming over to the demon who was sitting, casually leaning against the wall. She stood over him, shaking with rage.

“Do I feel a bit of a maternal responsibility towards her? Sure I do. But I don’t know if I deserve it. She already has so much hurt and confusion in her life, and I don’t want to add to that by trying to assert myself like I’m trying to replace Emily. Less than a year ago she was vulnerable, lost, and a shell of the girl we all know and love. A vulnerability you were very quick to take advantage of, Lawrence.” Her eyes glistened like fire. Beetlejuice, not about to be bested in an argument by little ol’ Babs, stood up, using his height difference to tower over her. As he opened his mouth to speak, Barbara leaned in.

“I. Risked. My. ‘Life.’ For her, thanks to you. And you know what, I’d gladly do it every day for the rest of eternity if that meant she was happy, healthy, and safe. And yes, maybe we were all nice and snuggled up together this morning, but don’t think I didn’t feel your hand on my arm. Jealous, much?” With that, she pursed her lips and cocked her head, waiting for a reply and not backing down.

Beetlejuice reeled, livid. “I’m. Not. Here. To be _PSYCHOANALYZED!_ ” he spat. With a deafening, fiery pop, he was gone. Barbara continued to stand, staring at the spot where the demon was just standing moments ago. She shot Adam a look, and he opened his mouth, reaching out his hand.

“Don’t.” she growled, turning and plopping herself onto their bed to stare at the ceiling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally when I started writing this story, I just thought it was going to be a three chapter fluff fic, but I'm actually really proud that I've been able to give it some sort of plot, and lemme tell you, THE PLOT THICKENS.

12:03.

She turned her head from the clock on the windowsill back up to the ceiling. She hadn’t seen Lydia in almost three hours. Barbara imagined the breakfast plate, caked with leftover eggs, stewing on Lydia’s desk. She could just go and see if she could take the plate down to the kitchen for her, Barb supposed, suddenly itching for something to do after hours of staring at the ceiling. She sat up and looked at Adam, who was guarding his usual spot in the desk chair, but the physics book remained unopened, cast away to make room for his elbows as he stared out the window. She rose, walking out the door and down the stairs.

Tapping her knuckle lightly on the wooden door, Barbara chirped, “Lydia, honey? I can take your plate down for you if you haven’t already.” Silence. She called again. “Lydia?” A shift in movement came from behind the door. It swung open, but only halfway.

“What’s up, Barbara?” Lydia said impatiently.

“I was just wondering if you took your plate down to the kitchen. I don’t want it sitting up here all dirty.” Barbara craned her neck to see if she could spot the dirty plate on Lydia’s desk. Instead, she spotted scissors, papers, and watercolors. Lydia moved in front of her gaze.

“Barbara! What are you doing looking in my room? I finished my essay and I’m working on stuff. Private stuff!” Lydia cried, tensing in defense.

“Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to see if the plate was there. You seem busy and not yourself. I was offering to take it down if you needed.” Barbara stuttered, taken aback. She was always allowed in Lydia’s room, no problem.

“You know what I need?” Lydia snapped. “I need you to leave me alone!”

Barbara stepped back, frozen. “I—I’m sorry. You just seem not yourself today and I want to help.” She quivered, holding back tears.

“You can help by just letting me be by myself! That’s how I like to figure things out: alone! It’s hard to solve problems with everyone yammering at me all the goddamn time. I’ll be fine if I’m by myself. Always have been, always will be.”

Barbara recalled her words towards Beetlejuice from hours prior: _giving her space to clear her head is best_. Lydia stood, her chest heaving, pushing each exhale out through her nostrils, like a steaming dragon, poised for attack. Slowly, Barbara nodded her head, staring at the floor. “Alright. Alright.” She looked up to meet Lydia’s watery hazel eyes. Barbara felt a pang in her chest. “I’ll leave you alone. But know that I’m always around when you need me. You can come find me when you’re ready. After you’ve had space to clear your head.” And with that, she transported to the attic.

_She never transports herself like that._ Lydia thought to herself, startled.

Barbara opened her eyes, her tears glistening in the sunshine that was pouring in through the attic windows. She looked to see Adam and Beetlejuice crouched on the floor, their ears pressed against the wood. They bolted up at Barbara’s sudden entrance.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you transport like that, Babs.”

“Barbara, honey.” Adam started, reaching out an arm as he walked towards her.

Barbara let out a crushed, stifled sob before sharply inhaling, even though she didn’t need to. She pushed Adam away.

“ _How—,”_ she wailed shrilly, gulping _“Could you even begin to call me a mother when I don’t even know how to help my child?! When she has to spell it out for me because I’m some kind of idiot?”_ And with that, Barbara willed herself away once more.

Into the basement.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some references to eating disordered behavior and anxiety. Again, nothing detailed is described, just mentioned/reflected on.

In the darkness, Barbara heaved, crumbling into the brown, mustardy-colored couch. She turned to stare at the blank expanse of the floor behind her. She could almost hear the thud, the bones crunching, their skulls cracking. Blood pooling underneath the mangled heaps that were the physical forms of Barbara and Adam Maitland—

She whipped back around, pulling her knees up to her chest immediately, as though the blood would seep onto her feet. Her ears rang as nausea tore at her insides. It was torture—at least if she was alive, she would’ve had the relief of vomiting. But now, no stomach, nothing to vomit out. Her chest felt on the brink of collapse. She continued to gulp in breath after breath, but again—no lungs, no relief.

She remembered having a panic attack once, the first time she ever purged. She sat on the cold bathroom floor, staring into the bowl of the toilet, her brain screaming, reprimanding: _Look what you went and did!_ The same nausea, the same desperation for air, caused her to purge again.

Barbara could guarantee, one hundred percent, that panic attacks were way worse after death. Could she die again from suffocation?

A sob ripped from her chest as she mentally kicked herself for going to the basement. She bit her hand, hard, to stop it from escaping. Once the sob passed, she surveyed her hand. Nothing. No bite mark, not even the smallest indentation, and certainly no blood. Suddenly enraged, she stood, her fist colliding with the nearest cinderblock wall. She pulled back. No pain. No bruising. No blood. No broken fingers. She punched again, this time with her other hand. Nothing. She kicked the wall, barefooted. Nothing. She kicked it again with the other foot. Nothing. She surrendered, crashing to her knees, covering her head with her hands like she was a child during a tornado drill.

“Hey Babs, what did that wall ever do to you?” Barbara remained curled up, sobbing. “You shouldn’t be down here. This place is no good for you. Why did you bring yourself here?”

_“Because I can’t fucking do anything right!”_ Barbara bawled, not removing her head from the floor. Beetlejuice shot back, hands up in defense. What was he doing? He had no idea how to handle emotions this intense. Especially someone else’s emotions. He wasn’t good at this shit.

“C’mon babe, let me bring you up to the attic. Adam’s waiting up there for you, and I told him I’d come get you so he didn’t have to come down here. I know how hard this place is for you two.” Nothing. Just more wailing, more heaving, more shaking.

He didn’t just want to transport Barbara back up to the attic forcefully. He couldn’t imagine how much more unhinged Barbara would become. How livid Adam would be. Beetlejuice began to panic, having run out of ideas, feeling his own chest on the brink of collapse. Maybe the basement wasn’t good for anyone.

Desperate, Beetlejuice decided to try something he never thought he’d do in a million years. He was taking a page out of Barbara’s own book. He had seen her use it on Lydia and Adam tons of times. Shakily, he kneeled and extended his arm to meet her back. Her tender, trembling back. First his fingertips, then his palm. He pressed into her, and gulped as he stiffly began to move his hand in circles. _This shit isn’t going to work coming from me,_ he thought. However, her sobs began to fade into little chirping cries.

“C’mon babe, let me bring you up to the attic. Adam’s waiting up there for you, and I told him I’d come get you so he didn’t have to come down here. I know how hard this place is for you two.” Beetlejuice regurgitated his script from before, not knowing what else to say. Still, after a few minutes, her cries remained consistent. He was going to have to do more than tell her that he can bring her to the attic.

“Look, Barbs,” he began, not knowing where he was going to end. “Lydia told you how she felt and what she wants. All you have to do is listen! Sounds easy to me.” Barbara whimpered, her crying suddenly becoming heavier. Oh no. “I mean, that’s why I don’t like babies and shit. You have to guess what they want, and half the time you’re wrong anyways. But Lydia? She can tell you what she wants, and you just have to listen. You already did. You walked away from the argument after she told you to fuck off.” More heavy crying. Fuck. “I bet being a mom is super hard. I mean, I wouldn’t know, mine never tried. Maybe because she didn’t want to put in the work. But you? You work super hard. So hard! And maybe you make a mistake once in a while. But no one’s perfect. I’m sure Emily had her fair share of fuck-ups. Mistakes will be made, that’s a fact of life—or death. Maybe, sometimes, you just have to let Lydia take the lead.” Beetlejuice had never vomited before, on the account the whole being born dead thing, but he was pretty sure this nervous jabbering is exactly what it’s like.

Somehow, Barbara slowly steadied herself, still crouched, balled up, and tense. Beetlejuice noticed that his hand was still absentmindedly going in circles. The movement felt wrong now that all of Barbara’s movement had come to a halt. He stopped the circles, but he was afraid to lift his hand, fearing that the retreat would make her spiral out of control again. “You ready to go to the attic?” Barbara nodded her head. “Kay, then. You at least gotta sit up. Makes this easier.” She slowly rose to her knees, head down and eyes closed, not wanting to face the demon or the basement. Beetlejuice knew that he needed a better grip if he was going to transport Barbara with him. He couldn’t imagine the psychotic breakdown Barbara would have if he accidentally popped away without her. He nervously slid his hand across her upper back, wrapping his fingers around her right shoulder, gripping her other shoulder with his free hand. Her eyes remained closed, her head down. He paused there for a moment, taking her in. Her perfumed hair, her soft, slender frame, her blotchy, tired face. He closed his eyes. When they opened, he was gazing up at a pacing Adam, who immediately dropped to his knees, embracing them both.


	8. Chapter 8

The week went by in a blur. Usually, the Maitland’s yearned for the weekend. During the week, the three breathers of the household filtered in and out of the front door to school, work, dentist appointments, whatever mundane tasks called them out into the world. Dinners were quick, and any television that was shared between all members of the family ended abruptly, way before the opportunity to fall asleep on the couch was remotely plausible. Alone for many hours at a time, the Maitland’s found weekdays a necessary inconvenience. Even Beetlejuice would disappear for a few days due to boredom, which disappointed the couple, since they could use his hijinks to spice things up and make the days go by at least a little faster. They would never tell him this though, since his ego would skyrocket and never come down. He disappeared shortly after he returned Barbara to Adam’s arms in the attic, and he hadn’t been heard from since.

Barbara, for the first time ever, found it hard to face Lydia. For one, she was still ashamed at her breakdown following their argument. _What kind of person would have a fit like that after a child argues with them?_ Barbara questioned herself daily. Not that she would know, but it didn’t seem like a very motherly thing to do. Emily probably never did anything like that. She wondered, if Emily knew that Lydia could see her, would she have stayed? Or did she go to the Netherworld on purpose, knowing her daughter’s strength and resilience?

The second reason Barbara kept to herself was because she had a hard time deciphering Lydia’s emotions. They still said their goodnights and exchanged smiles in passing, but nothing more. She, loud and clear, told Barbara to leave her alone, and that she would approach Barb on her own terms. Did Lydia think that Barbara was as inadequate as she thought she was? Was she still upset about whatever agitated her? What she mad at Barbara? Or did she think Barbara was mad at her?

Wednesday night, Barbara sat at the dining room table lightly forking at her bowl of pasta, head cradled in one hand. She came down on the insistence of Adam and in order to keep the tension in the household at a barely noticeable minimum.

“So,” Lydia piped up, making Barbara jump at the sound of her voice. “Is it okay if I come home a little late tomorrow? I might be going over to someone’s house.” This was directed at no one in particular, since she knew one of the four adults in charge of her would answer.

“Oh.” All of the four adults said at once, their heads perking up and turning towards Lydia. Not only was Lydia seeming to make friends, but she was making friends that she could hang out with _outside_ of the requirement of school. Barbara smiled at this positive change. Lydia took this opportunity to attempt eye contact with Barbara outside of their daily pleasantries. Barbara’s smile faded before returning her gaze to her small serving of pasta.

“How late are we talking, exactly?” Charles questioned, “It is a school night.”

“I know.” Lydia answered, “I was thinking of coming home for dinner. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“And who is this ‘someone’ whose house you’ll be at?” Charles asked with a sly smile, not doing the best job at hiding his happiness at Lydia’s progress in her social life.

"Well, there’s two someone’s actually. Their names are Gwen and Evelyn, but I’d be at Gwen’s house. I sit by them in English class.”

“I’m assuming I’ll need to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“Make sure you’re near your phone, then. Is five a good time?”

“Yup.”

Charles nodded and returned to his bowl. “What will you guys be doing?” Adam and Delia chipped in at same time, then sharing a giggle at their collective excitement. Adam peered over at Barbara, saddened and concerned that she wasn’t adding her excitement to the situation.

“Uh, not sure. We kinda started talking about photography. But I really don’t know.”

“Ooh! Maybe you can bring over a box or two of your photos to show them!” Adam mentioned.

“This isn’t a playdate, Adam,” she teased. “I’m a little too old to bring my toys.” He playfully scrunched his nose at her, and she returned the gesture. His gaze shifted to Barbara, before it returned to his bowl, placing a hand on her shoulder as he ate. Lydia peered over at Barbara out of the corner of her eye as she finished dinner. She tried to think of a question to ask or something to say that could pull Barb into the conversation, but nothing came to mind.

At the next night’s dinner, Lydia’s mouth did more talking than eating as she rattled off the events of her after-school adventure. “Gwen has a brook behind her house, so we went there and took some pictures. And Evelyn is a dancer, so I got her doing this really pretty pose on a rock with a bunch of trees in the background. I think it’s called an arabesque? Anyway, we also saw some tadpoles swimming around, too. And… do you think they could come over Saturday night? I stated telling them about how we used to do these bonfires before we moved here. Before, mom, uh…” she paused, taking a deep breath in. “I just think it would be really cool to do one again now that it’s getting nicer.”

“I think that’d be great!” Delia announced, also proud of Lydia’s advancement in her social skills.

“Delia.” Charles murmured, clearing his throat. Barbara looked up at the sudden tension. All eyes were on her and Adam. Lydia grabbed Barbara’s hand. She flinched, and hoped Lydia didn’t notice.

“What? We can just say they’re family friends or cousins or my aunt and uncle or something.” Lydia suggested, hopeful.

Adam sighed, pursing his lips. “Lydia, honey, it’s a nice thought, but they won’t be able to see us.” He grabbed Barbara’s other hand, and scanned her face up and down, reading her expression. “It’s a miracle that all three of you are able to see us. And could you imagine what would happen if one your friends could see us, but the other couldn’t? As smart as you are, I don’t think there’s any way of explaining yourself out of that one.”

“But I don’t want to shut you guys away in the attic.” Lydia began to choke up. Barbara, despite herself, couldn’t help but speak up.

“It’s okay. It’ll only be for a few hours, and we won’t mind. This is exciting! Have fun.” She smiled, squeezing the teen’s shoulder. Lydia smiled back, lingering. This is the first time she’s gotten a good look at Barbara all week.

“Well okay.” Charles interrupted. “That settles it.”

Lydia deserved to have some semblance of normalcy, even if Barbara didn’t fit into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updates might be a little irregular for the next week or so since I'm finishing my master's course and I'm also roadtripping to visit family now that things are finally starting to calm down. I'm also hitting a bit of writer's block for chapter 10. I know where I want the story to go but I'm having a hard time figuring out how to get it there. Also my friend and I watched a bootleg over zoom and played a Beetlejuice the Musical (the Musical the Musical) drinking game and I got lit so if anyone wants the rules let me know.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just watched a Something Rotten bootleg and Rob TAP DANCES what a wonderful gift to the universe he is

The Saturday morning air was cool and crisp. Even though Barbara wasn’t particularly in the mood to socialize, she knew it was in her best interest to get some time away from the attic before she had no choice. Barbara stretched across the couch, reading some romance novel she borrowed from Delia, which wasn’t exactly her style, but it gave her something to do. She was accompanied by Charles, who was reading a magazine. Adam and Lydia were in the kitchen, whispering.

“Is he making Lydia return that physics textbook?” Charles asked, not looking up from his magazine.

“Guess so,” Barbara replied, equally staying buried in her book. “He couldn’t find anything in there that could explain the things that started happening to us since we died. He’s just getting frustrated now.”

“I didn’t think he would find anything, to be honest.”

“Oh, same here.”

Charles let out one solid thunderclap of laughter. Barbara giggled too.

“Do you think he’s going to show up tonight? You know…” Charles asked, breaking his stare from his magazine to peek over the edge at Barbara. She put her book in her lap.

“I hope not. But Lydia probably figured it was best to _not_ tell him, since he would probably do the exact opposite if she asked him to stay away.” Barbara picked up her book. She knew that there was probably another reason he was avoiding the household.

Adam strolled into the living room, picking up Barbara’s legs in order to make room for himself on the couch. He propped his elbow onto the armrest and cradled his chin.

“Magazine?” Charles offered.

“No thanks.” Adam sighed wistfully.

Lydia bounded in, plopping down next to Barbara, who didn’t move her book from in front of her face, even though she had stopped reading.

“Whatcha reading?”

“One of Delia’s books.”

Lydia scrunched her nose. “You actually like that stuff?”

“Not really, but gives me something to read.”

“Gotcha.”

After a few minutes, Lydia got up and went upstairs. Barbara continued to hold her book, not reading at all.

Sometime later, Barbara sauntered up the stairs, her attention caught by Lydia staring into a hallway mirror, examining her face at different angles. Barbara caught her eye, and they stared at each other for a bit too long before Barbara decided to speak up.

“Getting ready for tonight?”

“Yeah.” Lydia felt foolish. She never cared about her looks this much. Why did she want to impress these girls so badly?

“You’re not happy?” Barbara asked, sensing Lydia’s worry. She shrugged.

“I mean, not that I care, but I feel like it could use something else. I guess. I don’t know.”

Barbara pondered, then started towards the bathroom. “Let’s see what else you have.”

Lydia showed her all the makeup Delia had gotten Lydia for her sixteenth birthday. Blush, contour, eyeshadow. She thought all these colors looked stupid on her pale face. She preferred face powder, eyeliner, and mascara. Barbara lifted a golden highlighter and tilted it, watching it glimmer under the bathroom lights. Lydia shook her head, thinking she’d look like a stupid fairy with shiny shit on her face.

“Let’s just see. It’s really subtle.” Barbara suggested as she selected a small brush. Lydia relented. Using her other hand to cup Lydia’s chin, she gently traced Lydia’s cheek bones, leaving behind a delicate shimmer. Lydia examined the addition in the mirror, nodding, satisfied.

“Wanna learn a trick?” Barbara asked. Lydia shrugged. Barbara gently pushed aside the neckline of Lydia’s shirt, and dusted the highlighter on her collarbone in circular motions, creating a dainty glow that extended past Lydia’s face.

“Huh.” Lydia remarked, nodding in the mirror. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” Barbara agreed. “I used to do that when Adam and I went on our date nights.”

“Well, you can use some now if you want, it you’re hoping to get lucky tonight.”

Barbara rolled her eyes, and Lydia chuckled. They stared at each other, frozen in an awkward silence. Lydia flashed Barbara a small smile, before looking down and walking out, muttering a thank you. Barbara looked down, surveying the highlighter and brush in her hands. A little dab wouldn’t hurt.

Later, Barbara sat at the desk in front of the tall window that faced the backyard, which was open to let in the cool nighttime air. She could hear the trio of girls conversing about a classmate’s stolen physics textbook. She glanced at her husband, who had pulled up a chair to listen in as well. They sat in the darkness, not wanting any attic lights to attract unwanted and potentially dangerous attention.

“He’s getting it back.” Adam assured. If they couldn’t be introduced to her new friends, they could at least take part in the affair by listening in. Barbara felt guilty, but it wasn’t exactly easy for them to get away from the girls’ crescendos of conversation. It’s not like they were listening to them through her bedroom door. Adam’s fingers flitted around in Barbara’s hair and he began to rub the nape of her neck with his thumb. She watched the rising plume of smoke from the bonfire as it passed their window and expanded into the nighttime sky. Adam leaned in, placing a kiss on her neck and down onto her shoulder, pulling back the neckline of her shirt with his finger. She heard the girls grow quiet, along with the distinct crumpling of a marshmallow bag. She looked back at their bed, smiling and relishing in the fact that her highlighter trick worked even after death. Might as well take advantage of their banishment to the attic.

Hours later, Barbara found herself back at the desk while Adam slept in the bed behind her. From the window on the other side of the attic, she could hear cars rolling up to collect the unfamiliar girls. Delia’s voice rang up into the attic as she made small talk, and even laughed, with the other parents through their car windows. Barbara so desperately wished she was the one reporting to the drivers that their daughter was a delight, and how much fun the girls had. Instead, she was leaning with her elbows on the desk, her hands in her hair, the same place where Adam’s hands had been hours before. But now she was watching tears cascade onto the desk, disappearing before they got a chance to leave a mark on the dark wood, since she wasn’t crying real tears. Nothing about her was real. She glanced back at Adam, and then at the wall to her right. It looked like a perfect place to draw a door.

“Barbara?”

Barbara jolted up, swiftly wiping her cheeks. She turned to see Lydia peeking in through the door, wearing dark denim shorts and a grey “Lake George” sweatshirt. That was the last place she had gone on vacation before Emily passed. She clung to that sweatshirt, despite it becoming too tight around her chest and a bit too short at her stomach, exposing a thin line of midriff. Lydia glanced at a sleeping Adam before tiptoeing over to Barbara, who had turned back to look at the sky. Lydia took Adam’s place in the chair to her right, blocking Barbara’s view of the wall she was contemplating. They sat in silence until Barbara couldn’t bear it anymore, breaking it.

“Sounds like you guys had fun.”

“Yeah. We did.” Lydia paused. “Do you wanna come and sit by the fire? I found you a really good stick.” Barbara didn’t move. “C’mon, don’t pretend like you can resist a good roasted marshmallow.” Lydia nudged her.

“Not tonight honey,” she started, avoiding eye contact, looking back again at Adam’s sleeping silhouette on the bed.

“Barbara, please?” Barb could almost hear a quiver in Lydia’s voice. She looked at the girl, whose eyebrows were arched, eyes big, her chest rising and falling rapidly with an urgent breath. Barbara sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Okay. Just for a bit.”

Lydia softened. “I’ll get some blankets.”

Barbara made her way outside, greeted by a clean stick propped against an empty lawn chair. She heard Lydia shuffling through the grass behind her, carrying an armful of blankets. Actually, just one big blanket.

“Hope you brought one for me,” Barbara remarked, taking hold of her marshmallow stick and plopping down into the chair.

“It’s for both of us.” Lydia paused at the awkwardness in the air. “But can you spread it out? You do it the best.” Lydia sat down, scooting her chair closer to Barb’s with waiting eyes. Barbara lifted her stick out of the way and waved her free hand. The blanket floated down, perfectly cocooning the pair. Lydia offered her the almost-empty marshmallow bag with a raised eyebrow. Barbara plucked one of the pillowy treats before piercing it with her stick.

“I think Beetle—Beej—would enjoy roasting marshmallows. Might be a good release for his violent energy.” Lydia giggled, and if that wasn’t enough to make Barbara dizzy, she rested her head on Barbara’s shoulder. The smoky scent that clung to the teen’s hair made Barb’s chest feel full. Now satisfied with her golden, mushy marshmallow, Barbara pulled it off with her teeth.

“You’re right, BJ would like roasting marshmallows. There’s impaling, burning a victim in fire, and tearing it apart with your teeth. What’s not to love? Although, given the softness and whiteness of the marshmallows, he might pretend he’s roasting Adam.”

Barbara roared with laughter. “You’re lucky I can’t die from choking!” she exclaimed through a full mouth. Lydia only continued to emit her intoxicating giggles.

“I usually like my marshmallows burnt, but your style seems tempting,” Lydia remarked after the laughter died down. “Care to spare me a perfectly roasted marshmallow?”

“Sure.” Barbara answered, plucking another marshmallow from the bag. They sat in silence as Barbara meticulously rotated the marshmallow over the flame. Once it reached gooey perfection, she offered it to Lydia, who plucked it off and popped it in her mouth, melting further into Barbara’s frame once it hit her tongue.

Lydia was right, Barbara couldn’t resist a good roasted marshmallow. Or four. Or seven. After the two finished the remains of the bag, they sat and watched the fire. Barbara watched the flame, which burned with intensity and passion. Lydia twitched, and Barb rubbed her back to rouse her. She lifted her head.

“Let go inside. You can’t sleep out here. And you should wash your face and take off your makeup.”

“Ugh, I have to hose off the fire.” Barbara waved her hand. The fire, and all of its intensity and passion, was gone in a fleeting and insignificant instant. The only thing that remained was the smoke, dissipating into the air around them. Barbara stood, but couldn’t tear herself away from the now non-existent fire. She felt a strange connection to it, and its smoke that surrounded her. Lydia rested her head again on Barb’s shoulder.

“Quite a relatable metaphor.” Barbara remarked sadly, turning away.

“The smoke is still here. I can see it, I can smell it, I can feel it. The fire still makes an impact, just a different one.”

Barbara stopped. She pondered Lydia’s words for a moment, nodding. They shared a look, and then returned to their journey into the house.

Once inside, before Barbara could close the door behind her, Lydia plopped down onto the couch, holding the blanket out in front of her. “Spread it?”

Barbara began to fidget, looking around the room. “Actually, honey, I think it’s best if I go up to bed. Adam’s going to worry if he wakes up and I’m not there.”

“But he never worries. He always knows you’re on the couch with me.” She sounded so small. Barbara was almost tempted to look at her, wondering if she had aged backwards by ten years. However, her gaze remained, steadfast, on the doorway.

“I know, but he didn’t know I was coming down here with you. He always knows where I am before I sleep down here.” Barbara excused. It was a bad excuse, but she didn’t care. It was clear that Lydia had more than enough space to clear her head from the intense argument the weekend prior, and that she was reaching out for Barbara, ready for her sweet, gentle stability that kept Lydia sane. But something tugged at Barbara’s metaphorical stomach. A nagging feeling of inadequacy, accompanied by constant questions of uncertainty. “Goodnight.” Barbara managed, exiting the room, leaving Lydia stranded on the couch. Good thing she died before she was actually able to become a mom.


	10. Chapter 10

_“Beetlejuice.”_

Barbara sat in the middle of the living room couch, alone. It was a Monday. Adam was her only company, and he was occupied in Charles’ office, scanning the bookshelf for some new interest to obsess over.

“Alrighty, which one of your sorry saltines accidentally said my name?” He turned, locking eyes with Barbara. His arms, which were extended in a grand, showy gesture, quickly flopped to his sides. “Oh. Hey, Babs.”

“Hi.” She returned her gaze to her lap, using a finger to trace the short, crescent-shaped outline of her fingernails, which were covered in the lavender polish she used the night before she died. Beetlejuice blew air out of his mouth, puffing his cheeks out in the process. He looked around at the still living room before returning his gaze to Barbara.

“What’s up?”

Barbara’s fidgeting stopped. She knew what she wanted, but she didn’t know how to bring it up without raising suspicion. She hadn’t thought this far. “Can I have a copy of the Handbook?” she blurted. Beetlejuice jerked his head back and stared at Barbara for a bit too long.

“For The Recently Deceased?”

“No, the Handbook for Building a Birdhouse. Sorry.” She added once she noticed Beetlejuice’s stunned expression. Barbara wasn’t the sarcastic type, but he liked it. She, unlike Adam, could hold her own when Beetlejuice would purposefully push her buttons. That’s why he almost enjoyed pissing Barbara off more. _Almost._ The penis-wielding member of the Maitland duo would usually yell, or squeal, or select another noise out of his delightful cornucopia of sounds, all hot and bothered and twitchy. But Barbara was a challenge. She actually had strategy. She would lightly tease him back with a flick of her well-groomed eyebrows, or she would get mad at him, bouncing and gesturing deliberately, jiggling in all the right places. Or, which Beetlejuice considered her smartest tactic, she’d reason with him with her twinkling voice and soft eyes. He couldn’t find a witty comeback to pit against solid logic, so he obliged, like he did outside of Lydia’s room last week, before he yelled at her in the attic. He hoped she didn’t realize her own cleverness in taking the demon down and start using the logic tactic regularly. He liked a fight.

Speaking of a fight—or could it have been an argument? He wasn’t sure when it crossed the boundary from one to another. He said some pretty nasty things, and he got pretty loud. Barbara continued to prove her intelligence—she read him and his desire for love and physical affection like an open book. He didn’t know how to deal with that. He was pissed. He always liked to be a mystery. When he’s no longer a mystery, what else is he? What does he have left to offer?

He slowly sat down at the other end of the couch, figuring this was an adequate way to compromise between pretending their spat never happened and full-out apologizing. Rigid, he made sure to stay in his own space—he also wasn’t ready to let Barbara know that he really was a needy little bitch who wanted a hug. Speaking of Barbara, her eyes darted back and forth, but her head remained down. After finding her words she spoke.

“I think it would just be best to have it around in case we need it. For emergencies.”

“Emergencies? What kind of emergencies?”

“Who knows, with you.” She finally turned to look at him. He had a hard time telling whether she was teasing or not. She looked back down. Something about this didn’t feel right to Beetlejuice, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Please, Beej.” Her eyes pleaded. “It’ll make me feel safe.”

_Safe._ Almost a year ago, Beetlejuice did a lot to make everyone in this household feel unsafe. After they welcomed him back into their lives—most of them begrudgingly—he finally felt safe. According to Lydia, Barbara was the only other person who stuck up for him. _She said you were fun._ He recalled Lydia’s words. _She said that this might be good for you, some “stability” or whatever so you don’t come back to kill us in a few years._ She had given him more than stability. She had given him stern eyes when she, along with Delia, forced him to shower, as well as a solid punch in the gut when he asked if either lady wanted to join him. She had given him a warm smile and an encouraging hand on his shoulder when she set a place for him the first time he joined them at the dinner table. By looking his way more than once a week, she had done more than Juno ever did. The least he could do was give her a dusty-ass book.

“Here ya go, babes.” The book silently materialized into his hand. Slowly, hesitantly—was she shaking?—Barbara took it. She began to feel the pointless need to gulp for air as she realized the gravity and the power of the object she was holding.

“So…where’s the useless-nipple half of this relationship?” Beetlejuice asked, desperate to get Barbara to crack a smile, or an eye roll, or a scoff, or anything. Something wasn’t right. She barely processed his question.

“In Charles’ office.” Beetlejuice so badly wanted to reach out and put a hand on her smooth shoulder and feel her softness. But, given how uncharacteristic it would be of him to do that, he’d probably just make the situation worse. He nodded to himself before making his way to the office.

A pair of khaki-clad ass cheeks greeted Beetlejuice as he leaned into the frame of the open doorway. Adam jittered between shelves, closely examining different book spines, occasionally pulling one out to read the back and flip through pages, only for Adam to shake his head and put it back. As though a sudden chill filtered through the air, he tensed, frozen, slowly turning his head. He yelped, making Beetlejuice’s toes curl as he smiled in delight.

“Hi, Beetlejuice.” Adam breathed tensely.

“Hey, sweetcheeks.” Beetlejuice replied with a wink. He thought about mentioning the Handbook to Adam, since something still didn’t sit right with him about his interaction with Barbara, but he figured that the lovebirds had a long pillow talk discussion about acquiring the Handbook, coupled with a bulleted list of pros and cons, as well as an outline for the reasons they would provide to anyone who asked. He also figured that the real reason the conversation had been so tense was standing in the doorway in a stupid striped suit. He shook his head to rid himself of his thoughts. Adam looked at him, puzzled.

“Everything alright?” Adam inquired, cocking his head, his stupidly adorable glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Everything’s peachy, you far-sighted flirt.” Beetlejuice responded, unconvincingly, staring at the floor. With some musty-smelling book in his hands, Adam slowly strolled over before planting his shoulder on the adjoining wall next to Beetlejuice. He peered at the demon over the top edge of his glasses frame. They met eyes. “What?” Beetlejuice spat, looking away once more.

“Nothing.” Adam shrugged, peeling open the book, the spine cracking. He tried to hide his smile, knowing that the demon had nowhere else to go. Feelings were still awkward between him and Barbara, so he was stuck with Adam. And, Adam knew, trying harder to hide his smile, that the demon secretly hated silence, because silence meant Lydia wasn’t teasing him, Charles wasn’t gruffly mumbling a reply to him, Delia wasn’t awkwardly laughing at him, Barbara wasn’t scolding him, and he wasn’t squeaking in response to the demon, meaning that Beetlejuice wasn’t the center of attention. Meaning, hopefully, he could get Beetlejuice to spill his guts, figuratively, he hoped.

“Whatcha reading?” Beetlejuice leaned in, instantly proving Adam right.

“Found this in Delia’s office, actually.” Adam stated, knowing Beetlejuice didn’t really care. “It’s all about different rocks and minerals and where they’re found around the world. A gateway to crystals I suppose.”

“Don’t tell me your geek-ass is gonna join Deels in her crystal bullshit.” Beetlejuice groaned. “We only need one bimbo blathering about shiny fucking rocks.” Adam blew a chuckle out of his nose.

“No, I don’t think it’ll go that far. But it is really interesting, all the different rocks found all over the world. There are some beauties. I mean, look at this one—green Tourmaline—found mainly in Brazil. I gotta see if Delia has an actual specimen that I can see in person. The world’s largest specimen of Tourmaline was found in Paraiba, but it’s not even that big, considering it only had a cubic volume of—”

“Should I call Barbara in here so she can sit on your face? Then at least your mouth would be doing something useful. And I’d actually be interested in listening to _that._ ” Beetlejuice huffed, walking through the doorway and slumping into the leather office chair, trying his best to distance himself from the sexy-boring phenomena that is Adam Maitland. Adam let his smile escape, now that the demon had his back to him. He knew that if he kept blabbering, Beetlejuice would make some crude joke about him or his wife, allowing her to come up naturally in conversation. He hadn’t expected the demon to fall into his trap so quickly.

“Speaking of Barbara,” he started. “Have you talked to her today?” Beetlejuice started picking at his fingernails.

“Yeah.”

“How’d that go?”

“Exactly as you’d expect, Adam!” he barked. Damn, how could he be so smart and so stupid? They probably talked about the Handbook this morning; it wasn’t really an intense cognitive task to recall information that fresh.

“She’s not mad at you, Beetlejuice. She’s just struggling with Mother’s Day coming up. I think Lydia has a surprise for her, but she won’t believe me. She’s so conflicted between feeling such love for Lydia but not wanting to overstep and make it seem like she’s replacing Emily. She feels like she doesn’t deserve recognition from Lydia. I really appreciate you bringing her up from the basement. It really seemed like you calmed her down and made her feel better. I’m sure she appreciates it, too.”

Beetlejuice stared at his fingernails, processing what he thought was going to be a conversation about the Handbook but had melded into a conversation about Barbara’s innermost weaknesses. He decided to shake the Handbook conversation out of his mind, because, if Adam wasn’t bringing it up, then it clearly wasn’t as important at Beetlejuice thought it was.

“And in terms of what she said to you, about the, uh, hand on her arm on the couch thing, uh, well, I know you do a lot of deflecting, but you’re always more than welcome to sit with us when we read or watch TV.” Adam braced himself for another Beetlejuice blow-up.

“…Kaaaay.” That was all he could muster, praying to God/Satan that this conversation would end soon.

“And speaking of, I’m going to go share some pictures with her. I found this nice light-purplish Spodumene, and that’s her favorite color. I’m sure that’ll cheer her up. Plus, Spodumene of all sorts is found in Afghanistan, Australia, Brazil, Madagascar, Pakistan, Québec, North Carolina, _and_ California. Crazy, right? You can join us if you’d like.”

After a pause, as though Beetlejuice would actually answer, he turned and walked out. Beetlejuice heard another pause at the top of the stairs before Adam descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having some major writers block lately, not so much with this chapter but the next chapter, since I always like to write at least a chapter ahead before I post in case I need to change anything in the previous chapter. But I just wrote chapter 11 and I have some solid ideas for chapter 12! I don't see this fic being more than 15 chapters, so unless I get any more ideas, the end may soon be near! 
> 
> Also credit and thanks to inthenetherworld in their fic "Now Get in the Attic! And in my Bed!" for the face-sitting joke. It made me die when I first read it and I had to use it (with permission!).


	11. Chapter 11

The week rolled on, each day inching the family closer and closer to the dreaded Sunday that was Mother’s Day. A dreaded day for Barbara, at least. The rest of the family seemed relatively unaffected by the impending event. Lydia, however, was a different story. Every day after school, she’d rush through the front door and up to her room, slamming the door behind her. Each family member—aside from Barbara of course—made the bold move of knocking on the teenager’s door, each time to be met with answers of “I’m busy,” or “Not right now.” But Barbara knew better. She’d be lounging in the attic or reading in the living room, never letting the thought of approaching the bedroom door cross her mind. It was for the best that she stayed out of Lydia’s hair; she ended up doing more harm than good recently, anyway.

On Wednesday afternoon, Barbara busied herself around the kitchen. She heard the front door open and shut, footsteps trudge up the stairs, and a door slam. Lydia’s home. A few minutes later, she heard the twinkling of Delia’s voice, followed by the boom of Lydia’s.

_"GO AWAY.”_

Even though she had her fair share of experience being on the receiving end of Lydia’s intense emotions, Barbara cringed. A stillness hung in the air, followed by heels click-clacking down the steps, then a huff as Delia’s weight settled into a kitchen chair. Barbara spun around, and she was met with the sight of the other female adult of the household slumped over, head resting on the table.

“Hey, Delia.” Barbara’s voiced cracked as it broke the silence. The woman jolted up, eyes wide with realization that she wasn’t alone. She let out a shaky laugh.

“Sorry, Barb. Didn’t see you there. Sorry.” She huffed out another airy laugh.

“You’re one of the only people who can see me, so if you’re starting to lose that ability, we’ve got some issues!” Barbara joked in an attempt to lift the heaviness that had settled between the two women. Delia’s smile slid off her face.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. I didn’t mean it like—I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Barbara held her hands up defensively. “Don’t worry about it.” The women exchanged sad smiles as Barbara lowered her hands. The awkwardness was palpable, but Barbara felt trapped, unable to look away.

“Our girl, am I right?” Delia mumbled, nodding towards the stairs.

 _Yours, maybe._ Barbara thought. _But not mine._

“Barbara?”

Barbara’s head jerked upward, once again locking eyes with Delia. “Yeah, yeah. Right.” Barbara assured, emphasizing the “t” and nodding her head vigorously, hoping to quell any of Delia’s desire to ask what she was thinking about.

“This is such a hard time of year for her,” Delia began. “I mean, no offense to Emily, but she really had to go a month before Mother’s Day. Why couldn’t she have died around Christmas or something like that?” Barbara laughed.

“Unfortunately, when it’s your time, you really don’t get much of a choice.” Barbara bit her lip. That came out much more bitter than she intended. Delia froze, and opened her mouth to speak, but Barbara beat her to it. “Do you want some tea while I’m up? Lavender lemon.” Barbara smiled and raised her eyebrows, knowing the crystal junkie couldn’t resist some good, old fashioned lavender to calm her nerves. Delia let out a breath that Barb didn’t realize she had been holding.

“Yeah, that’d be great, actually. Thank you.” She smiled at the ghost in earnest. Barbara smiled back and turned to busy herself once again. The two women sat in silence as Barbara prepared a cup of tea for each of them. Barbara could use something to try and calm her own nerves, whether or not the lavender could actually affect her, that was a different story. But it was worth a shot. Minutes later, she joined the redhead at the table, a mug of tea for each of them. Delia raised her cup.

“Cheers to the trials and tribulations of adoptive motherhood!” Delia chuckled. Barbara paused. “C’mon, you gotta clink my mug or else the cheers doesn’t work!”

Barbara stared at Delia’s cup, light wisps of steam dissipating into the air. She didn’t deserve this cheers. She didn’t deserve the title and all the glory that came with it. Delia did. In the beginning, through the cringey metaphors and shitty advice, she really just meant well and wanted the best for Lydia deep, deep down. In the months after the whole Beetlejuice incident, she learned how to talk less and listen more. She was the one who got Lydia out of her shell. She was the one who got Lydia to chuckle and roll her eyes. She was the one who got to watch Lydia sit around the bonfire with her peers, blossoming into a confident young woman. All Barbara got to do was run to the attic and hide.

Delia still waited, expectant smile on her face, mug hanging in the air. Barbara reached forward and gave the tiniest clink she could manage. Delia reached and grabbed Barbara’s free hand from the table, giving it a squeeze. “That’s the spirit!” Their eyes met. A smile slowly creeped along Barb’s face over the edge of the mug. Laughter bubbled out of her chest, shaking her body and causing some tea to slosh onto the table. Delia blinked hard at the ghost, but began to smile as realization dawned on her face. Both women leaned back in their seats, roaring with laughter. “ _The spirit? Get it? It’s because you’re—,”_ a wheeze cut off Delia’s redundant explanation of her own accidental joke. This sent Barbara farther into a fit of laughter, grabbing the edge of the table in a sincere attempt to not fall out of her chair. Delia leaned over, face scrunched, clutching her stomach.

Just as quickly as the laughter began, it fizzled out. Delia took great effort in inhaling and exhaling to steady herself, while Barbara reached for a sip of tea. Delia went to do the same, but paused, glancing slyly at Barbara.

“You didn’t spike this when I wasn’t looking, did you?” Barbara laughed into her mug, causing droplets to sputter onto the table. She shook her head, grabbing a napkin. “If you say so. But if I can’t walk up the stairs after this, I know who to blame.” Barb chuckled again as she willed the wet napkin away. Delia sighed, grasping her mug with both hands. She looked through the doorway towards the stairs.

“I just wish I could be more of a help to her.”

“I guess she needs her space.” Barbara suggested, looking down at her tea.

“Yeah, well, last time I gave her space, she almost killed herself and summoned Bee—,” Barbara jolted in her seat, eyes wide and focused on Delia, who had her hand over her mouth and her eyes closed. She took a breath and opened her eyes, holding out her hand. “You-know-who. And you know how that story goes better than I do.” Barbara hummed in acknowledgement.

“But things are different now,” she began slowly. “Whatever happened between Charles and Lydia when they ran into the Netherworld really—somehow—fixed everything. When she shut herself away before, she had no choice—not to anyone’s fault. She just lost her mother, Charles lost his wife, and it hurt them both in very different ways. And then to top it off, you got thrown into the middle of all that. But now there’s the communication. Now when she shuts herself away, she knows she’ll have someone waiting for her on the other side of the door when she’s ready to come out.” Delia stared hard at Barbara, who grew uncomfortable under her gaze. Delia smiled, shaking her head.

“I get it now.” She whispered, not breaking her eye contact with Barbara.

“What?”

“I remember,” Delia started, leaning back in her chair. “When we first moved in here, Lydia was, well, being Lydia. But, all of a sudden, like someone flipped a switch, she was happier. Nowhere near where she is now, certainly not ‘better,’ in any sense, but she was lighter, in a way. A little less slumped over, a little less downcast. Charles and I just thought she was coming around to things and getting used to the house. Obviously not, considering we know what happened. But it’s because she met you. And Adam.”

“No, no.” Barbara shook her head. “She was just excited because we were going to try and scare you guys out of the house. Or maybe it was the whole possession plan thing at the dinner party.” She wasn’t sure. The memories of everything that happened so soon after her death swirled together and made her dizzy when she thought about them too hard.

“Maybe,” Delia pursed her lips, brows furrowed. “But I learned what she’s like when she’s scheming. This was different. It was so…genuine.” She paused, blinking hard at Barbara again. “How did you guys even meet her in the first place?” Barbara rubbed her temples.

“It was pathetic, really. Beej was trying to teach us how to scare so we could get our house back, but he got frustrated and left to sulk on the roof. So we decided to take matters into our own hands, and we ran into Lydia. She followed us up into the attic when we ran away, and we got to talking to her.”

“What did you guys talk about?”

Barbara recalled the girl, her pale skin emphasizing the bags under her eyes, which were contrasted by the bright, curious smile on her face. _She’d love this!_ Barbara recalled Lydia exclaiming before she told them the story about her and her mother’s summertime haunted house. She could see a sad desperation in Lydia’s eyes. It was clear that she and Adam were the first ones to listen to the teen in a long while. _Sorry, I don’t mean to bore you guys talking about my dead mom._ Right back she went to putting up her defenses. _We don’t mind,_ Barbara remembered blurting out, seeing that she needed someone, anyone, to talk to. Then they agreed to the girl’s plan to scare, then her plan to possess, wrapped up in trying to help the poor thing. Far too young to lose a mom, or take the path she traveled on. But without traveling down that path, they wouldn’t have the life they had now. Not by a long shot.

“She told you about Emily, didn’t she?” Delia roused Barbara out of her thoughts.

“Uh, well, she, um… she just told us a story.” She didn’t want to divulge to deeply into Lydia’s most vulnerable moments, nor did she want to share too much of their first encounter with Delia. She wanted to keep that memory to herself. While the other memories of the incident churned and collided in her head, that one had remained unscathed. Untouched by the hands of time and fear. For her and her only.

“No wonder she’s always running after you like a little puppy. You guys were the first—and only—people who were there for her when she needed it most. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I’ve tried to take a page or two out of your book since we’ve all been here.”

Nausea and panic ripped at Barbara’s insides. She looked down at her last sip of tea, now cold. The lavender really wasn’t helping.

“Hi ladies.” Barbara turned. In the doorway, Adam stood, holding the book on rocks and minerals he retrieved from Delia’s office days before. His eyes moved up and down, scanning his wife’s face. “Everything alright?” He walked towards her, arm outstretched.

“Fine! Everything’s fine!” Barbara plastered a smile on her face before taking her last swig of tea. She winced at the chill. “Just having some tea!” She grabbed her mug and hopped up, starting towards the sink. “I was just about to get dinner started, actually. How about some chicken and bean tacos?” She turned to face the pair, who were eyeing each other. They jumped at Barbara’s sudden attention towards them.

“Sounds good, sweetheart.” Adam stammered. “Why don’t I help you? I actually had a question for D over here, but, uh, it can wait until after tacos!”

“What’s wrong Adam? Can’t ask a question and cook at the same time? I thought I was the only one in the household with that problem.” Delia retorted. “I can actually go grab my crystals if you want to look at some ‘specimens,’ as you say. Thanks for the tea, Barbara.” She walked over to the female ghost, placing her hand on her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “I really appreciate it.” Barbara just nodded and smiled before turning away towards her dinner preparations, faltering under the eye contact. Now it was just the couple in the kitchen as they began to cook. And no matter how much Adam inquired on what was happened before he entered, Barbara continued to insist that they were only having some tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really wanted to focus on Delia and Barb's relationship here, because I feel like they struggle with the same feelings and they're both in the same boat. Also they didn't get enough time together in the musical or in a lot of fics so here I be. I just really wanted to explore their relationship. Also I got my grubby lil hands on a bootleg of a preview performance and I'm really happy I got to explore Delia's eSsEnCe once she became a strong independent woman who don't need no Otho. 
> 
> But I have a bootleg of the OBC, one with Presley and David, one of a preview, now all I need is a DC bootleg and my collection will be complete! I also need BJ to come back to Broadway but that's a different story.


	12. Chapter 12

Barbara stared at her potted plants and surveyed their recent growth. Each plant, as if overnight, had sprouted upward and outward, beginning to droop out of the confines of their pots, begging for the space of the outdoors. Next weekend would finally provide the proper conditions for the start of the “Girls Only” garden. Barbara imagined the three women of the household kneeling shoulder to shoulder over the earth, gingerly introducing each plant to its new home. A thought that once filled her with excitement now filled her with nausea, a sensation that barely disturbed her, given that it was all she felt nowadays. She was happy it was Thursday—Charles and Delia stayed at work late so they could leave the office as early as possible on Friday to start the weekend. Usually, this gave her uninterrupted time with Lydia—time to chat after school, help her with homework, make her some dinner, and make sure she was getting into the shower at a reasonable time so she wouldn’t go to sleep with a cold, wet head. But today, Lydia was staying after school so she could use the art room’s laminator. Typically, Barbara would’ve lamented to herself that their special Thursday evening practice was being interrupted, but instead, she was actually happy—relieved—to have more time away from the others. The people, who she loved dearly and would normally look forward to spending time with, she now avoided. The eye contact stayed at a minimum, Barbara only able to choke out two or three words at a time. No matter what she did, every interaction was sprinkled with Barbara’s insecurities, a constant weight of unease hanging around her. How did she manage to mess everything up in such a short span of time?

She knelt down in front of the plants and pushed aside the cascade of leaves. The plume of growth, while impressive, also served as a protective wall. From behind the pots, she withdrew the Handbook. She ran a thumb over the smooth cover, eyeing the brightly dressed couple as they waked towards a sunset blanketed by blue and pink clouds. From the cautious glimpses she got through any open Netherworld door, it didn’t seem like that place matched the cheery depiction on the cover. She looked up and eyed the wall next to the desk. One of the first orders of business the family had embarked on after Beetlejuice made his grand, show stopping exit was to clean up the house, which included all the clutter that the couple shoved into every crevice of the attic. Everything was either donated or thrown out, with the exception of their kombucha jar, as Delia had actually enjoyed it and asked for their recipe. The wake of the purge left a much more minimalistic style to the attic—a simple bed, a couch, a desk, and some string lights for _ambiance,_ as Delia had put it. Charles had asked the couple countless times if they wanted him to pick up some art from IKEA, but they kindly rejected each offer. The de-cluttered style of their new space finally allowed them to stop and look around, something they never did while they were alive. They trudged on, filling their home and their minds with clutter, all of it meaningless attempts to hide from the pressures of life that they were so ill-equipped for. Now, they had all the time and space to just _stop._ Stop and see what was in front of them, and face it head on, whatever it may be. Now, however, her confidence dwindled. Uncomfortable in her own metaphorical skin, every move she made seemed to be the wrong one lately. Maybe she had overstayed her welcome.

She stood and walked to face the expanse of wall, examining the smooth, dark wood. Her attention shifted to the Handbook. She had never opened the Handbook, only closed it, much to the anger of Lydia. She also never got the chance to draw a door. Beetlejuice did multiple times, Adam even did once, but never Barbara. Come to think of it, she was the one who closed Adam’s door. That’s all she ever did. Closed. Never opened. Never took action, only stopped it from happening.

She opened the desk drawer, remembering Adam’s insistence of keeping a rich variety of writing tools available, in order to “be prepared for anything,” whatever that meant. She slid a slender piece of white chalk out of a crisp, never-opened box. She felt its smoothness between her fingers as she turned and marked a small line on the wall. It stared back at her. She wiped her hand over the line, only for it to disappear without a trace. She looked back down at the book. Her lavender fingernails picked at the edge of the cover. She lifted it, slowly, only to wince from the light that poured from its pages. _Chapter One: The Netherworld. All ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld._ So much for that. _Draw a door. Knock three times and…_

“Barbara, my love?”

She whipped around, dropping the chalk. As it clattered to the floor, Adam’s smile fell, his eyes settling on the open Handbook in Barbara’s hands. He bolted towards her, ripping the book from her hands and sliding his into them. He looked at his wife, his brows arched, mouth slightly agape, hoping that if he left his mouth open words would start coming out of it. No such luck. After three seconds, three minutes, three hours?—who cares—he cupped her face in his hands, staring into her beautiful, yet watery, blue eyes. Even in death, she was as radiant as ever. Her golden blonde hair, resting in relaxed curls at her shoulders, caught the sunlight that came in through the window, framing her in a halo of light. Her face, even in sadness—no, despair—was glowing, perfectly peach and smooth. Whatever was happening, whatever she was feeling, she didn’t deserve.

He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, hands resting in the small of her tender, yet strong back. She wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders, rigid. Slowly, she began to melt, cries bubbling from her lips.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything, but you need to tell me what’s going on. Where in the world did you get that book?”

She took a shaky breath to steady herself. Not that she needed to, but it was a force of habit. “I asked Beej for it. In—in case of emergencies. I thought it was smart to have it around.” Adam pulled out of the hug, once again meeting his wife’s eyes. Tears, like little diamonds, trickled out of them. With his thumb, he wiped one away, only for it to be replaced by a new tear a moment later. He sighed.

“What emergency were you experiencing to have it open with chalk in your hand?” She looked down, backing away from him.

“I—I don’t…Do we really belong here?” She looked back up, waiting for his answer.

“Do—do we—what? Do you realize what would’ve happened to Lydia if we were never here? What would’ve happened to Charles and Delia? I can’t even begin to imagine how upside-down their lives would be if all of this never happened.”

Barbara nodded, replaying the memories of everything that happened after their deaths. Beetlejuice, Lydia—happy—a happy Lydia. A fixed family, now six people big, none of it was possible without their accidental run-in with the girl, Barbara being used as collateral in Beetlejuice’s marriage scheme, the couple flanking Lydia in defense against Juno, Barbara serving the demon some tough love once the family agreed to his return. She thought back to the exorcism. It was like nothing she ever experienced in life. _It’s my fault she’s dying_ she remembered Lydia crying, although it was murky. Barbara was there, listening—but she also wasn’t, slowly losing her grip on the world. She went crashing to the floor; Lydia had agreed to marry Beetlejuice to save Barbara. Why? Because she cared about the ghost? Loved her, even?

Slowly, she nodded her head. “Yeah.” That was all she could manage. “Yeah.” She looked back up to her husband. His hand met her face, pulling her into a kiss that left her weak at the knees. Whether the weakness was from the kiss, the recall of difficult memories, or the weight of the book and the chalk being in her hands minutes ago, she wasn’t sure. Adam placed a steady hand on her back, pressing her into him. His other hand migrated, finding her soft hair, thumb brushing the nape of her neck. He pulled back, smiling.

“Please promise me you’ll never touch that book again.”

She nodded, not even sure what she was planning to do with that book in the first place. She felt foolish. Stupid. Selfish. Her lip began to quiver.

“Hey, hey.” Adam whispered softly, wrapping her in his surprisingly strong arms. “I know you’ve been on edge with everything going on with Lydia. But I promise, after this weekend, you’ll feel better.” She nodded again, still finding it hard to believe him. He gave her another peck on the lips, which made her smile, despite herself. “That’s my beautiful girl.” She looked down, her cheeks growing hot, only for him to press his lips onto one, then onto her head, where he remained, unmoving. Looking over her, he eyed the book, which was sprawled open on the floor. He straightened, breaking their embrace, planting his hands firmly on her shaky shoulders. “ _Beetlejuice!”_ Barbara winced.

_No._

With a pop, he materialized on their bed, posing. “Finally! Never thought you guys would actually come around to the idea of a three—,” His eyes met Barbara’s. Frantic, she wiped her face, hoping to erase any leftover trace of tears. Too late. Beetlejuice bounced up, hands up in defense as he leaned back, away from the woman. Adam—he had moved—marched up to the demon and clapped a hand on his shoulder. He flinched.

“Please. Get rid of this book. And the chalk. All of it. Just get it out of here.” The demon turned his head towards Barbara, then back to Adam.

“I thought you guys wanted this around for emergencies…”

“Not anymore.” Adam pursed his lips. “Please. I—we—want it gone.”

“If you say so.” He eyed Barbara again, quickly looking away, shifting uncomfortably in his spot. “You guys wanna see a sad puppet show?”

_"Beetlejuice just get rid of the fucking book!”_ Adam ordered.

“Alright, alright, I’ll read the room. Didn’t know you had that in ya, A-dog.” With a firm point to the floor, a fire was conjured in the middle of the attic. Adam yelped, running towards Barbara. Beetlejuice tossed the book into the flames, the fire growing with intensity before dying out just as quickly as it came. The three stared at the floor, undamaged, for what felt like ages.

“Is that how you got rid of ours?” Barbara felt so small.

“Yep.” He popped the “p,” keeping a hard gaze on the floor.

“That’s why I didn’t remember starting the fire, when I got it on my hand. I didn’t even feel it.” Barbara looked back up, meeting the demon’s eyes. He flinched, looking away and jamming his hands into his pockets.

“Welp, whatever it is that I got summoned into I’d rather summon myself out of, so, see you sexy losers later.”

Barbara lunged forward, arms outstretched. “Beetlejuice, wait I—“

He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look's like you all finally got to see what happened with the handbook...
> 
> Also I listened to audio from the DC run (thank you again to inthenetherworld for blessing me) and I'm actually happy with all the ways they changed it. Like I think BJ is a lot less likable in DC and Barbara was kind of this somewhat unstable, ditsy-ish character? And even though there was the kickass "Children We Didn't Have" song, I kinda feel like they hit you over the head with the whole "Barbara is mom" thing. She has so much more of a subtle depth now where it doesn't feel like it's so obvious. Just needed to "vent" and put all my thoughts somewhere because all my loved ones are tired of listening to me talk about Beetlejuice.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME FOR SOME MORE PLATONIC CUDDLING MOTHERFUCKERS. Also I think this has some underlying beetlelands/goldenrat? But only with Barb??? So Beetlebabs??? Is that a real??? Because it is now bitches. Also is there a difference between those two ships? Like is one only for the movie and one is only for the musical? Please educate me.

Barbara glanced back at her husband.

“Stay up here. I think I need to talk to him.”

“Barbara, is that a good—“

“Trust me. I got it.”

Adam sighed, pursing his lips as he shrugged before letting his arms flop to his sides. That was enough of an “okay” for Barbara, not that she needed it anyway. She made her way down to the living room.

She paused at the bottom of the steps, taking in the stillness of the room. The curtain fluttered as a cool spring breeze entered through the window. Slowly, she tiptoed toward the couch, half expecting, half hoping that Beetlejuice would be laying there. No such luck. She sauntered around to the front of the couch and plopped down, collecting her thoughts. She bolted up. No, no. Don’t sit this time. It’s too much like when she last summoned him, asking for the book. He’ll get uncomfortable too quickly. It’s best to stay standing, to be on an even playing field with him.

“Beetlejuice.”

Nothing.

“Beetlejuice, c’mon. I know you’re listening. I just wanna talk.”

Barbara spun around at the sudden but faint pop that came from behind her. Of course he manifested behind her. He always had to have the upper edge, especially when things weren’t going his way. His gazed remained on the floor. A sad smile spread across Barbara’s face.

“Hey Beej.”

“Hi.”

“Can we sit on the couch?”

Beetlejuice’s attention shot towards the couch. The same couch he had sat with Barbara days before, taking extra care to keep his distance, when she asked for the book. The book that led to whatever the fuck he was called into up in the attic, with Barbara crying, wiping her face in a panic when her eyes met his. She was too late. He’d seen her tears, her red face, just like in the basement. Beetlejuice hated emotions. Hated feeling them, hating seeing them. They were sticky. Complicated. Exhausting. Everything was much easier when people were smiling, laughing, rolling their eyes. But tears, clenched fists, all of that—no way. Breathers were so sensitive. He got a taste of that briefly—very briefly—after his green card marriage. Anyone who wasn’t Born Dead didn’t realize that there were a lot of things about life that couldn’t be fixed or changed, especially when it came to death. No matter how many millennia passed, one thing stayed the same—the suffocating amount of Newlydeads that came into the Netherworld, begging and pleading to go back, to fix things, to change things. As though death could be reversed. No one, not even Juno, had that power.

So Beetlejuice thought back to his encounter with Barbara on the couch. An encounter that had unnerved him, and became even more unsettling because he couldn’t quite figure out why. He thought it was their fight? But maybe now it was something else? Or both? That fight had made him so angry, Barbara all up in his face making him uncomfortable with her own stupid anger, picking him and his desire for physical contact apart. He wasn’t sure why he was so jealous of what they had. And not even the romantic shit, but the casual stuff too. How Chuck would squeeze Barb’s shoulders as he passed behind her chair at dinner. How Adam twirled Deels around when they played their records. How Lydia sunk into Barbara’s form, head resting on her shoulder while she ate marshmallows around the bonfire, because of course Beetlejuice spied on her and her new little friends, watching her try her best to keep her hair perfectly behind one ear. So when he saw her curled up with the two ghosts that one morning, he sprung at the opportunity to see what all the hoopla was about. He didn’t have to ask, and he could play off any touching as an accident.

Now he was conflicted. If he accepted her offer of sitting down on the couch, then he proved her right, and she won. But if he said no, then it would seem like he was being a pussy over nothing, and she would still win.

“Sure.” He murmured, eyes still fixed on the cushions. At least he could keep his distance from her at the opposite end of the couch. At least that’s what he thought, until Barbara plopped down smack in the middle of it, now coming into his field of sight. He deflated, knowing he couldn’t ask her to move or make up the excuse that he changed his mind. Back to problem number two of being a pussy over nothing. Strategic bitch. Carefully, he waddled over, gingerly sitting to her left, the couch sagging slightly under his weight. This made Barbara’s small body lean involuntarily into him, their outer thighs and arms grazing. Fuck.

“Beej, listen.” She began in her soothing, twinkling tones. “A lot has been happening between us these past few weeks, and I think we need to talk about it.” Beetlejuice couldn’t decide what was worse: feeling feelings, seeing other people feel feelings, or talking about feelings. It all seemed so confusing. So tiring. But, at least if they talked, they would be closer to getting over and forgetting about all these _feelings._ So he remained silent, hoping she would do that with as little input from him as possible.

“First of all, I want to say that I’m sorry for what I said to you when we fought. I shouldn’t have used something so personal against you. And I know your favorite things to do are deflect and avoid, but just know that you’re always welcome to sit with us like you and I are now. I really liked having you there with us on the couch that morning. It felt nice. Peaceful.” His head jerked back the tiniest bit. That was surprising. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she was looking at him with her big, stupid, beautiful eyes. Slowly, carefully, she laid her closest hand on his shoulder, eyeing him for a reaction.

“Beej?”

“Kay.”

“Apology accepted?”

Right. Fuck. She had apologized for something. Stupid social rules, all this back and forth. What was it? Their fight. “Yeah. I deserved it anyway. I kinda did the same thing talking about you guys with Lydia. So, I’m sorry too. I guess.” Her eyebrows shot up, scanning him and down in surprise at his apology. “You checkin’ me out?” he purred, wiggling his eyebrows, finally working up the guts to purposefully make eye contact with her for the first time in over a week. She rolled her eyes.

“Also, uh…” she looked forward, a blankness in her eyes as she began absentmindedly brushing her thumb along his shoulder. He closed his eyes, intoxicated at the sensation. “I really want to thank you for helping me in the basement. I was having a really tough time and you were there for me. You really helped me—and Adam—out. I appreciate it. We both do. I’m, uh, sorry you had to see me like that.” God/Satan, why was she apologizing for being so innocent? So perfect?

“Don’t be.” He mumbled. She jerked her head to look at him, brows furrowed. She looked back down, nodding silently to herself before side eyeing him. Her hand slid off his shoulder and under his arm, wrapping herself around it, gripping his bicep with her free hand. She rested her head onto his shoulder. This was torture. He tried to take as inconspicuous of an inhale as possible. A sweet, flowery scent wafted from her golden hair.

“And, uh, I’m sorry about the book. I’d prefer we don’t talk about it.”

“Hey, who’s deflecting and avoiding now?” She glanced at him, jaw clenched. “What?” he chastised. “You’re weren’t trying to skip town on us, were ya?”

“No.” She said after a long pause. “I’m really not sure what I was doing. I just got to thinking. All the times everyone used that book. Hell, even Lydia did more with it than I did. I also never drew a door. Got curious, I guess.”

“Eh, it’s really not that exciting. Also, don’t think I wouldn’t drag you out of the Netherworld if you tried any funny business. I’d carry you out myself—fireman’s carry, bridal style—,” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re tiny. I’ve daydreamed countless times about how I’d carry you around.”

“You know, you talk a really big game for someone who was afraid of sitting on the couch with me.” He was not about to be one-upped by Babs—basically the human version of a kitten. He shifted, rustling her away, only to reach his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in and giving her a squeeze for good measure. Take that. She chuckled, kicking her feet up on the couch to curl under her, returning her head to his shoulder, and a hand to his chest. He hoped she couldn’t feel him shaking.

“Are we good now?” she asked. He wasn’t sure. There was still the question of _why_ she was acting like this, why all this stuff was happening. It had something to do with Lydia, and maybe Mother’s Day? It’s all so confusing. Not that it’s his business anyway. Plus, it would all sort itself out. Probably. He already had enough feelings for one day. For the next million days, really. She looked up at him. Why was she so unintentionally and hopelessly adorable?

“Never better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE LOVE SOME PLATONIC CUDDLING/SOFT BEEJ/HINT OF BEETLEBABS. Also for those who write fics-which Adam and Lydia do you guys picture/use for inspiration. For Lydia I picture a combo of Sophia and Presley, but for Adam (as wonderful as David is) I am a hardcore Rob stan all the way.
> 
> Also I just realized that Beetlebabs is way too close to Beetlebabes but I refuse to call it Beetlebarbs because Babs is such a cute and kinda-special nickname between the two. Also we can just replace Beetlebabes with Beetlebabs.
> 
> Also I have up until chapter 15 written and that would be the last chapter but now I'm hitting writer's block because I don't want this fic to end!!! I have ideas for one shots/my own interpretation to Beetlejuice coming back (even though it's so overdone but fuck me I kinda wanna do it) but I still don't want to finish this one!!! It has a special place in my heart as being my first ever fic and I'v really appreciated all the support and love and the kinda-sorta internet acquaintances I've made (looking at you inthenetherworld). IDK why I'm so talkative but probably because I've been working on master's work for like 2 hours and now I'm delirious so I'm gonna go eat some pasta bye.


	14. Chapter 14

The front door slammed. Lydia’s home. Any second, she’d stomp up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door and—

“Beetlejuice, where’s Barbara?!” Her voice was thick. She had been crying. Immediately, Barbara sat up and turned toward the girl, breaking her embrace with the demon. She stood at the door, eyes red, lip quivering, legs shaking. She dropped her backpack, storming over to Barbara. She nearly fell into Barbara as she sat down, nuzzling her face into her neck. Then, she began to wail.

“Welp, I’ve had enough with feelings for today. It’s time for Barbara the Feeling Queen to handle this one. I’m gonna go see if Sexy wants to snuggle. Maybe I can get a kiss out of him too. He is a really good kisser.”

Barbara felt his presence from behind her dissipate as Lydia choked on her sobs, her breath hot on Barbara’s neck. She held the girl close, closer than she had in quite some time.

“Lydia, what—”

“I heard Gwen and Evelyn talking to this other girl, Rachel. She’s a bitch. Calls me a witch, always asks me ‘when’s the funeral?’” Lydia let out a strangled cough, and the ghost began to rub the girl’s back. “I knew they talked to her a bit. They’re all in the same math class. But I was on my way to the art room when I saw them standing around by their math teacher’s door. I think they were staying after for math help. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. And then I heard Evelyn say ‘She’s really not that weird’ and then Gwen was like ‘Yeah, we went to her house Saturday, she’s actually pretty normal.’” She heaved. Barbara’s hand moved up into Lydia’s hair as she began to gently rock them both side to side, hoping the girl wouldn’t vomit over her shoulder. “The only reason they hung out with me was so they could see if I was a freak or not!” Lydia began to wail again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Adam and Beetlejuice leaning over the banister, faces full of concern. Adam looked like he was about to start crying himself. Not that it mattered. Only Lydia mattered right now.

“Hey, hey, you don’t know that.” She continued rocking, patting Lydia’s back rhythmically. Just for a moment, she could pretend Lydia was a fussy baby or hurt toddler before she opened her mouth, her voice shrill.

“Yes I do! I heard them!”

“Well, did you hear the beginning of the conversation? Did that Rachel girl say anything? I mean, if she’s always mean to you, maybe they were defending you.” Lydia began to breathe more steadily, but still continued to choke out sobs.

“I…I don’t know, actually. I only heard what they said.” Barbara hummed in acknowledgement, thinking.

“Did they see you? Do you think they knew you heard them?”

“I hope not. I had to walk past them to get to the art room. I tried to be quick. But even if they did see me, they didn’t come find me, or text me, or anything.”

“Well, if they were there for math help, then that’s kind of important, especially if they’re struggling and their grades may be at risk. But maybe they hoped you _didn’t_ hear. And if they think you did, it’s awkward when you’re talking about someone without them there. They probably feel bad, or don’t know how to handle it. Maybe they’re waiting to see you tomorrow.” Lydia sniffled.

“I—I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. I really like them.”

“Lydia Violet Deetz.” Barbara began. “You have suffered more loss than your peers could imagine. You are best friends with a _demon_. You have _literally_ been to Hell _and back._ You live in a haunted house. I think you can handle some high school girls.”

“That last part isn’t really that impressive, considering the ghosts who haunt my house obsess over physics and garden in their spare time.” Lydia interjected, her wails now a distant memory. Barbara heard Adam chuckle. She rolled her eyes.

“The point _is,_ ” Barbara continued. “This is something you can handle, no problem. _I_ think you should ask them tomorrow, point blank, what it was they were saying about you with Rachel. See how they answer and how honest you think they’re being. Then decide if your friendship is over. Anyone who doesn’t value you for who you are is not worth your time, your energy, or, most importantly, your marshmallows.” Lydia giggled. Barbara closed her eyes. She hadn’t heard that giggle in what felt like forever.

“I know.” The girl chirped, still sniffling.

“Of course you do, you little smarty pants.” Barbara finally pulled back to examine Lydia. Tears still trickled down her face, but they were easing up. Her dark eye makeup was smeared around her eyes, leaving tracks that ran down her cheeks. Barbara gave a smile, wiping away what she could with her thumbs. “Why don’t you go shower so you can wash your face off and I’ll make you some grilled cheese and tomato soup.” She knew the teen couldn’t resist the ultimate comfort food pairing. Lydia nodded, rising and walking up the stairs, only to pause to first hug Adam, who squeezed her tight, then Beetlejuice, who hesitantly, then tenderly, pulled her into a hug of his own. Barbara smiled as she watched the teen disappear, then turned towards the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know that it's thought by some in the fandom that Lydia's middle name is "Joyce," but it really didn't seem fitting to me for the musical version of Lydia, so she is now "Lydia Violet Deetz."
> 
> Also I'm sorry to say that this fic is only going to have one more chapter before it's done and I'm probably halfway done with it. I'm so sad.


	15. Chapter 15

It turned out Barbara was right (as usual). Lydia had approached the two girls, ready to demand an explanation, but they beat her to it. The conversation Lydia overheard in the hallway was Gwen and Evelyn coming to her defense. In defense of what, they didn’t tell her. Not that it mattered. With Lydia being much more at ease that Friday afternoon, Barbara once again returned to the attic to hide behind the guise of caring for her plants.

Ever since this strange family came to be, they had fallen into a tradition for all holidays, birthdays, and other celebrations. For obvious reasons, Adam and Barbara couldn’t work, and any personal money they had was now under the control of their biological family members, which was a can of worms best left unopened. Because they couldn’t purchase any gifts of their own but still wanted to be as festive as possible, they had resolved to cooking favorite meals on any special day. Turkey with all the fixings on Thanksgiving, latkes for Hanukkah, a ham for Christmas, a German chocolate cake for Lydia’s birthday, beurre noisette with pasta for Adam’s, the list goes on and on. And Mother’s Day is no exception.

Barbara rolled over in bed, eyes still shut as she thought about the scones she was going to prepare. Memories swam through her head—her father plopping the thick batter onto cookie sheets as she licked the spoon, or her mother recoiling with laughter after they had dusted cornstarch atop the scones instead of powdered sugar, her father muttering curses under his breath after he screwed the top of the sugar shaker on so tight it wouldn’t come off. She wondered what would happen when her parents got to the Netherworld, yearning to see their daughter who was taken from them too early, and Barbara was nowhere to be found.

A smell rose up into the attic that roused Barbara out of her thoughts. She bolted up, eyes flying open. It was a familiar smell, a smell that continued to hold those memories in the forefront of her mind. _Scones?_ It couldn’t be, not when she was the one who had the recipe. Barbara turned her head, but instead of being met with an equally confused Adam like she thought she would be, she was met with Adam’s side of the bed, empty and neatly made, with a single purple lily laid gently across the top edge of the quilt. Barbara smiled, wondering why, how, and where her husband had even gotten a lily. The window above the bed was open, letting in the cool Sunday morning breeze. On the windowsill sat a vase filled with water, which Barb gently lowered the lily into. She changed out of her pajamas and faced the door, the familiar smell still hanging in the air. Confusion and curiosity got the best of her as she made her way down the stairs.

The voices of her loved ones bubbled out of the kitchen as the scent of freshly baked scones drifted towards her. Everyone was accounted for on the other side of the doorway—she heard Charles’ booming laughter followed by Delia’s twinkling tones, Adam and Lydia’s conversation floating overhead, and even Beetlejuice’s signature rasp, which took Barbara by surprise. Cautiously, she tiptoed into the kitchen. Conveniently, everyone was preoccupied as they grabbed scones from the center of the table, which was dotted with wrapped packages and gift bags of various pastel colors and floral designs. Barbara took the moment to observe the happy family without her, like the outsider she was. She smiled. Delia sure is lucky to be getting all those gifts. She deserves it.

_“Barbara!”_

She barely had the time to look up before a black blur collided with her, enveloping her in a hug. She let out a small, surprised huff before slowly raising her arms to return the gesture. Just as she was closing her eyes to take in Lydia’s small yet strong frame, the girl pulled back, slipping her hands into Barbara’s.

“Adam made scones! Come sit!”

Lydia guided Barb over to her seat next to Adam, and Lydia sat down to her left. Next to her was Delia, followed by Charles, then Beetlejuice, who seemed as though he was strategically placed in between the two men, perhaps in a possible hope that they could keep his antics at bay for the morning. Barbara eyed her husband with a confused look. He shrugged.

“I wrote down the recipe last year when we were at your parents’ house. I was hoping I got to make these for you this year under some, uh, _different_ , circumstances, but I still got to make them anyway, I guess.”

Barbara looked around the table, and she was met with warm, beaming smiles from everyone. Everyone except for Beetlejuice, who was levitating the sugar shaker and pouring powdered sugar right into his mouth. Barbara closed her eyes and shook her head, which garnered a laugh out of everyone. She turned to her husband.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She then looked to Delia. “I’m sorry. I planned on making these for you, so I’m sorry to say I don’t have a gift. I’ll make whatever you want for dinner if you’d like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Delia scoffed as she waved her hand. “This is your special day to relax just as much as it is mine. _But,_ if you wanna make these again sometime this week, I won’t fight you on it! Now have a scone! I think they’re pretty good, but I’d like to know what you’d think, since you’re the expert, after all.”

Barbara blinked hard at what she just heard, but the expectant looks of the others and the deliciously tempting scones kept her silent. She grabbed one and took a bite, melting into the pillowy soft sweetness she had become accustomed to every Mother’s Day. But something about it tasted different.

“Can I see the recipe?” she asked. Adam jumped up, walking purposefully to the other side of the counter.

“I made sure to triple-check everything before I added it.” Adam stated, beaming with pride as he handed her the paper.

“Of course you did, dweeb.” Beetlejuice snickered, floating the now-empty sugar shaker back onto the counter, where more scones sat, waiting.

“It’s good. Really, really, good.” Barbara furrowed her brow, scanning the paper. “Something tastes different though, but the recipe’s the same.”

“Well your dad told me how he always used to accidentally burn the bottoms and overcompensate with powdered sugar, but I made sure to check them every two minutes until I was sure they were done perfectly. Maybe I should’ve aimed for more of a dark brown than a golden brown on the bottom. I bet it deepens the flavor.” Barbara hummed out a chuckle as she took another bite, handing back the recipe.

“No, it’s not that.”

“Yeah relax, Martha Stewart.” Beetlejuice teased.

“That one has raisins.” Adam suggested, pointing at the scone in Barbara’s hand. “But I made half with raisins and half without, just like your dad did.”

Barbara dropped her scone down onto her plate and stared at her husband, shaking her head in feigned disapproval, which was contrasted by the smile on her face. “I know it has raisins, Adam.”

“Of course you tighty-whities like raisins.” Beetlejuice remarked.

“I don’t like raisins.” Lydia chimed in. Beetlejuice snapped his fingers into a finger gun, aimed at Lydia.

“This is why you’re my favorite.”

“There’s just something a little different about it, that’s all.” Barbara interrupted.

“Well, there’s a lot of things that are different now. Maybe that’s why it tastes different.” Lydia replied, head cocked questioningly. Barbara nodded her head, shifting her gaze back to the scone on her plate. Smart girl.

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, the family settled into their morning breakfast, eager arms reaching for scones as a light chatter of conversation filled the air. Barbara sipped her tea as Adam reached over and rested his arm on the back of her chair, placing his hand on her shoulder and rubbing his thumb back and forth absentmindedly as he laughed at something Delia had said. After their conversation dissipated, Barbara leaned into her husband and rested her head on his shoulder. As he gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the head, she gazed up at him.

“Thank you for the lily. Where did you even get it?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” He said, smiling slyly. “And I’d get you a million lilies if I could.” Barbara straightened so she could kiss him properly.

“So,” Charles boomed from the hallway. _When did he leave the kitchen?_ “I say we start with the gifts!” Charles stepped into the doorway confidently, hands behind his back, unveiling a bouquet of pink roses, which he presented to Delia with an accompanying kiss. Deliberately, he walked over to Barbara, brandishing a bouquet of sunflowers, head tilted toward her with a smile.

“For me?”

“Of course!”

Barbara stared at the bright flowers with a furrowed brow, hands remaining glued to the table as though the bouquet may burn her if she dared to touch it. Sensing her hesitation, Charles laid the sunflowers on the table and gripped the back of Lydia’s chair.

“I’m not good with words, you all know this, but Lydia was in a very different place when we first moved here. I was in a very different place when we moved here. Not physically, obviously, but you get my point. But you both have done so much for her, and for me, and for us, really. And now, Lydia, she’s—” Charles stopped, squeezing his eyes shut, gripping the back of Lydia’s chair harder. “So yes, Barbara, of course those flowers are for you. You have been an unexpected blessing in Lydia’s—in our—lives. What I’m trying to say is, thank you.”

Barbara looked around at the rest of the table. Beetlejuice picked at his nails, but Barbara thought she saw the smallest grin on his face if she looked hard enough. Adam, to no one’s surprise, had a single tear making its way down his cheek. Charles was breathing quiet but steadying breaths, and Delia was dabbing at misty eyes with a napkin. Lydia was beaming at Barbara with expectant eyes, whose smile only grew when Barbara’s gaze finally fell on her.

“Mine next!” Delia interrupted, reaching over Lydia to hand Barbara a bright blue gift bag covered in polka dots. Barbara hesitantly took it, chuckling silently to herself at the cheerful, flashy bag that screamed “Delia.” Reaching into it, she pulled out a small potted plant. Gingerly, she held it up to her nose and inhaled.

“Lavender?” Barbara chirped, cocking her head at Delia.

“Yes!” Delia nodded excitedly. “I thought we could put it in the garden so we could make our own lavender tea! Plus, lavender is so calming, and it really helps create positive vibes.”

“Thank you, Delia.” Barbara replied. They locked eyes, warm smiles spreading on both of their faces, a comfortable silence lingering in the air.

“Of course.”

“So,” Charles announced, clapping his hands together. “I think we saved the best for last, hm?” He cocked his head, smiling down at his daughter. She smiled back up at him, then at the rest of the family around the table.

“Well—”

“Uh…”

All attention immediately pointed towards Beetlejuice, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair, before straightening up and flashing a showy, yet sly grin.

“You guys didn’t think I was gonna be left out of all the fun, did you?” His hands dove into his pockets, shuffling around. From one, he withdrew a vivid, earthy green stone. He extended his arm and plopped it in front of a surprised Delia. From another pocket came a pale, light purple stone, which went to Barbara.

“So Deels, Sexy over here told me all about that one. Fuck if I remember what it’s called, but whatever it is, it’s the world’s largest. And Babs, your ferociously attractive husband also told me about that and how it’s your favorite color, so, there you ladies go. Happy International Women’s Day!” Lydia snorted.

“Beej, International Women’s Day is in March. This is Mother’s Day.”

“Whatever. You say potato, I say raw bundle of French fries. Same diff.”

“Beetlejuice…” Adam started, eyes widening with concern, staring at Delia’s gemstone. “That looks like Tourmaline, and you said ‘world’s largest.’ Where did you get that?”

Beetlejuice tapped his chin before snapping his fingers into yet another finger gun, but now aimed at Adam. “Paraiba! Yeah! That place you told me about. Daddy-o over here helped me find it on that round spinning map.” Mouths agape, everyone slowly turned towards Charles, who sighed.

“He came into my office one day asking where Paraiba was on my globe. And North Carolina. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask questions anymore.”

“No, Chuck, it’s North _Caroline_.”

“No Beej, it’s North Carolina.” Lydia argued.

“No, no, no, you’re thinking of that song. Geez, some public school system your tax dollars have been going to.”

“Beej, the song is Sweet _Caroline_ , the state is North _Carolina_.”

“What about that movie we watched that one time?”

“That’s _Coraline._ ”

“Is it too early for a bourbon?” Charles interjected.

“Yes, dear.” Delia replied curtly. “Beetlejuice, why did you get us gifts?” Beetlejuice looked away from his argument with Lydia, deflating. He gazed downwards, shrugging.

“I dunno. Just cuz.”

“Oh my God.” Delia gushed. “He cares about us!”

“Oh my God.” Adam stammered. “He listened to me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa whoa whoa.” Beetlejuice held up his hands defensively “Hold up, hold up. You guys are making an awful lot of accusations. I know a lot of shady lawyers who will help me sue your asses in court. And I haven’t cared about anything except for when the Cubs won the Super Bowl and…”

Barbara smiled at Delia, who smiled back and gave her a wink. They both rose, strutting over to each side of Beetlejuice, both planting a soft kiss on his scruffy cheeks. They looked down at him with narrowed eyes, smirking.

“Not exactly the threesome I had in mind, but I won’t argue. Anyway, take it away, Lyds.” The women rolled their eyes and returned to their seats. Barbara could swear that she saw a light pink hue blossoming in the tips of Beetlejuice’s hair.

Lydia leaned forward, grabbing the remaining gift bags from the table. She deposited a glittery purple bag in front of Delia, while holding a gray, floral patterned bag on her lap. She winked at Barbara, who couldn’t help but smile. From her bag, Delia withdrew a packet of laminated papers, bound together with twine. Barbara caught glimpses of watercolor drawings and small paragraphs of Lydia’s handwriting.

“I did some research and figured out how your crystals could help in the garden. I made you a book so that you can learn how to infuse our tomatoes with _positive vibes_ , or whatever.”

“Oh, Lydia, this is beautiful! Looks like I have quite a bit of reading to do before next weekend! Thank you!”

Lydia leaned to give Delia a hug, then she turned towards Barbara, gift outstretched. Gingerly, Barbara took the bag and withdrew its contents.

“They’re signs, for the garden. So that we know which plants are which.”

Barbara took in the delicate illustrations, each accompanied by a matching label in sophisticated cursive. She grazed her finger over the laminated, waterproof edges, and rubbed the popsicle sticks’ pointed ends that would soon find their way into the earth.

“Lydia, these are beau—”

Barbara’s voice caught in her throat. She felt Adam’s reassuring hand on her back as a tear rolled down her cheek. She shook her head, taking in a steadying, although unnecessary, breath.

_“Thank you.”_

She turned to look at the teenager, who met Barbara’s gaze with her big, brown eyes and a puzzled look.

“Did you really think you weren’t getting anything?”

Barbara shrugged. “I—I don’t know. I’m not your mother. I’m not Emily, I’m not Delia, I’m not—”

“You’re not.” Lydia began. “You’re not my mom. Neither of you are. You couldn’t be if you tried. But you _aren’t_ trying. That’s the thing. You’re _you._ And that’s good enough. It’s better than good enough. It’s amazing. You’re amazing. From the moment I met you in the attic almost a year ago, that’s what I thought. You were nice, and sweet, and you listened, and you wanted to help me so badly, and I’m still not even sure why. And since then you’ve always been nice, and sweet, and you’ve listened and tried your best to help me. So of course you’re getting gifts today, and you will be for every Mother’s Day until the day I die, and then probably after that, too.” Lydia took a breath. “I love you, Barb. Thanks for being you.”

She pulled the ghost into a hug. Barbara returned it, nuzzling into Lydia’s shoulder. For once, she didn’t pretend that she was holding baby, toddler, or little girl Lydia. She was holding Lydia. Grown, beautiful, Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said that this would only have 15 chapters, but as I was writing I decided to split this chapter into two so it wouldn't be too long, plus I think it ends the story better that way. So yay! You guys can look forward to some real wholesome found family bullshit in chapter 16, which will probably be posted soon since it's already written and just needs a good proofread.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so you know how I wrote about Adam giving Barb a purple lily in the last chapter? Well, family from out-of-state sent me flowers and the bouquet has PURPLE LILIES IN IT. LIKE WHAT. 
> 
> Not to dump too much emotional baggage on strangers on the internet but sorry for the delay I've really been going through it the past couple of days because I told my father I don't want to speak to him anymore. It's something I've wanted to do for like 7 years or so and I'm finally in a place in my life where I can. So hopefully now I'm on the mend and things will continue in my life the way I want them to. 
> 
> Without further ado, the final chapter to "Mother's Day."

That afternoon, Charles found Lydia sandwiched between Barbara and Delia on the couch, excitedly jittering about the best way to arrange and organize the garden. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. All eyes went to the bundle in his arms. Lydia spoke first.

“Are those—?”

“The photo albums? Yes, yes they are.” Charles answered. “We haven’t looked at them since Emily passed, but I think today is the perfect day to open them back up, if you’re okay with it.”

Lydia turned back around, eyes on the floor. Barbara straightened, placing a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. She looked up, and was met with Barbara’s reassuring smile. She looked to Delia, who met her with a matching grin.

“Yeah. Yeah. I think that’d be nice.”

Charles shifted the pile in his arms until he could firmly grasp the first album with a large hand. He swung it over Lydia’s shoulder and onto her lap. She glanced around, now noticing that Adam had perched himself on the armrest next to Barbara, and Beetlejuice was floating overhead. She rolled her eyes.

“What?” He replied. “Best seat in the house.”

Lydia peeled back the cover, the spine crackling like a fireplace. She smiled, staring down at a picture of herself as a newborn, bright red and puffy, nearly disappearing under a white blanket and pink beanie.

“Holy fucking fuck Scarecrow, what was wrong with you?” Beetlejuice asked, bewildered.

“That’s what babies look like when they’re born, Beej.”

“She was perfect.” Charles bragged. “Nineteen inches, five pounds, fourteen ounces, three and a half weeks early, born at exactly three o’clock in the morning. On her own schedule, a creature of the night, on the smaller side, but perfectly healthy.”

“So I see not much has changed.” Adam remarked

“You guys know that three o’clock is considered the devil’s hour, right?” Beetlejuice asked. “Good job Lyds, I always knew you were a little demon.”

“I think that’s the only time I’ve seen her wear pink.” Delia added.

Lydia continued to flip through the album. A picture of Lydia in a car seat, ready to go home from the hospital. A picture of a ragged, tired Charles holding days-old Lydia, who was bright red and bunched up, mid-cry.

“I’ve seen that look before, Chuck!” exclaimed Beetlejuice. “That’s how you look any time you have to parent Lydia!”

“Beetlejuice, I’m always parenting Lydia.”

“Bingo!”

Beetlejuice, Adam, Delia, and Charles continued to comment through more pictures: Lydia wrapped in a towel after bath time, looking shocked and concerned at the camera, Lydia sucking her thumb in her crib, eyelids drooping with impending slumber. As the pages turned, Lydia grew. A crawling baby with wisps of light blonde hair. A walking toddler with golden curls. Lydia running, jumping, riding a bike, hair becoming darker and straighter as the years went on. As Lydia opened the second photo album, she glanced at Barbara, who had remained silent through the incessant chattering of the peanut gallery. Her eyes, gleaming with tears, were focused on each page. A small smile hid behind the hand that was delicately resting on her lips.

“Lydia, you were a ballerina?!” Beetlejuice roared, taking in a photo of Lydia in baby pink ballet flats, a white and red polka-dotted tutu, and an oversized bow in her hair to match.

“She cried the entire time she was on stage.” Charles sighed. “Never did that again.”

Lydia on a swing set, Lydia at the beach, Lydia smiling with a mouthful of braces. Finally, the pages ended on Lydia, looking not much younger than she did now, sitting on a dock in a gray “Lake George” sweatshirt, with a timid, sad smile. Lydia sighed. Barbara could feel Charles tense behind her. As she closed the album and lifted it to hand it back to her father, a picture slid out onto Lydia’s lap. Captured in the warm light of a sunset was Lydia, only a few months old, little face scrunched in a laugh, being lifted into the air by Emily. Emily, who had the same short, dark bob of hair that Lydia has now, scrunched her face back at her daughter, staring lovingly into her eyes.

“That’s strange.” Charles remarked. “We always made sure we put pictures into the album immediately so we didn’t lose any. And that one’s out of order. It should in the first album.”

Lydia wasn’t listening. She ran a finger over her mother’s face. Barbara saw a tear roll down her cheek, dripping onto the picture. Lydia’s lips moved, barely, in a nearly inaudible whisper. Barbara smiled, just catching what the girl had said.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mama. I love you.”

___________________________________________________

The sun shined bright that next Saturday. The heat warmed the three women as they knelt down over the earth, an occasional breeze causing their plants to sway. After they meticulously carved shallow holes in the ground with spades, Lydia gently lowered each plant into its new home, closely followed by Barbara sticking a garden sign into the ground and Delia embedding a crystal in the soil. Having been outside for the better part of the day, the family retired to the living room early for a nighttime movie, everyone casually nibbling on the scones that Barbara had made during the week. As always, Delia and Charles were in their matching armchairs, Lydia was snuggled on the couch between the Adam and Barbara, and Beetlejuice was draped along the back of the couch, this time leaning his head so his cheek brushed against Barbara’s. One by one, each family member rose to turn in for the night. First Charles, then Delia, then Adam, with a kiss on Barbara’s forehead and a tousle of Lydia’s hair, and finally Beetlejuice, rolling off the back of the couch and traipsing out, unceremoniously. Lydia sunk further and further into Barbara’s frame, Barbara holding her closer and closer with each sigh she emitted as she drifted into dreamland. Cocooned in a blanket, darkness and slumber had finally fallen upon the pair.

Maybe Lydia was an early riser. But maybe she would sleep a little longer. And maybe she would wake up, peering at a still-sleeping Barbara, and lay her head back down. And maybe, eventually, Barbara would wake as well, but they would stay nestled in each other, warm and happy, until the world around them forced them up. But maybe the world wouldn’t force them up for a long, long time.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really wanna say THANK YOU EVERYONE who has read this, left kudos, and/or comments. I never wrote fanfic before but this was such a fun and creative experience and I'm so happy I did because I created a story I really love. I'm so fucking sad it's over but as I said I do have plans for one shots and maybe a "BJ Returns" fic. I feel like that one's gonna be a huge undertaking since I really only have an idea for how like the first two paragraphs LOL so I might just write a few one shots to get those ideas out of my brain and clear my head first before I try to handle another longer story. But I really wanna figure out my personal take on him returning. So subscribe to me I guess if you care enough about that and I look forward to what the future holds for all of us! 
> 
> Thank you all so much!!!


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